“We’re getting better at this.”
“It would seem so.”
“Hold on. I want to stand in front of the fireplace for a more dramatic effect for my next bout of epicness.”
“I want epicness,” Tiggy said with a pout.
“Hmm,” Gary said, looking around. “Oh! Tiggy, see that completely disgusting painting on the wall? Your epicness shall come from ripping it off its moorings and then smashing it over your knee. That might even be the most epic of all.”
“Yay!” Tiggy said as he skipped over toward the painting.
“I painted that the last time I was here,” I pointed out.
“I know,” Gary said. “It’s atrocious. How do I look?” He posed in front of the roaring fire, chest sticking out, one leg bent up in front of him.
“Badass,” I said, because it was the truth.
“Awesome,” he breathed. “This is going to be great. Okay. Places, everyone.”
I made myself look pensive and forlorn.
Gary made himself look as if he were filled to the brim with furious indignation.
Tiggy was ready to smash.
“Everyone ready?” Gary asked. “Good. I’ll go first.” He coughed. “Me me me memememe. Red leather, yellow leather, red leather, yellow leather, red leather, yellow leather.” He coughed again. “Okay! And action.” He flipped his mane beautifully. “And now,” he growled, “we stand here with all your secrets exposed. What do you have to say for yourself?”
“There are more forces at work here than you could possibly imagine,” I said, staring off into the distance as if contemplating the road I still had yet to travel. “Forces you couldn’t possibly understand.”
“GWAAAAH!” Tiggy roared, ripping the painting off the wall. He smashed it over his knee, the frame splintering as the canvas split.
“Do you see!” Gary shrieked. “This is what your decisions have wrought. That painting has been destroyed, much as you have destroyed my heart.”
“Why?” Tiggy sobbed, the pieces of the painting falling to the ground around him. “Oh why?”
“I never wanted this,” I begged. “You have to believe me!”
“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” Gary said, flipping his mane again. The fire snapped and crackled behind him. “How do we know that we can ever trust a word out of your mouth ever again?”
“Gary,” Tiggy whispered.
“Yes, Tiggy.”
“Smash another painting?”
“Hmm. Would that be overkill? I suppose it would be rather fresh. I mean, who would expect two paintings to be destroyed dramatically? Hmmmm—yes. I will allow it.”
“Yay!” Tiggy said, skipping over to another painting on the wall.
“I painted that one too,” I pointed out.
“I’m aware,” Gary said. “Its blight upon this world must be cleansed.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“Sam, when I see it, I want to punch myself in the face with my fist. And in case you didn’t know, I don’t even have hands to make a fist, that’s how much I hate it.”
“Ow,” I said. “My feelings.”