#// THE ULTIMATE ANTI-STIM OF HAVING SOMEONE MAKE YOUR HAND A ROOM TEMP SUSHI SANDWICH ASDFKJHYGADFKJGH

[sanguine-salvation]

"Listen, I need your help..." The Clown's look was serious, shifty she scoured the area. Trying to make sure there was no one nearby before leaning in close. "Just hold still." Reaching into her pocket she pulled out two cuts of fish fillets and slaps Victors' hand between them. Silence...

Finally, she shakes her head disappointed.

"I don't get this five-finger fillet thing... It doesn't really look all that appetizing if you ask me."

"I am mildly concerned with why you need mine in particular." Viktor sighed. They were not known for the whole 'helping' thing, so it was almost immediately not anything good. Even with most other rogues, they had a bit of a 'team player' problem. And they did not get the privilege of enough time to question what exactly she had in her head this time before they made one fatal mistake.

They gave a very faint benefit of the doubt to how serious her face was.

Something they would very soon regret the minute their hands were subjected to the sheer slimy, wet, vaguely squelchy slaps of two fish fillets, their tepidly pocket-temperature squishiness sending such a clear and violent jolt of displeasure up Viktor's spine that one could just feel it go all the way up like static if they looked at them.

That was indeed a silence that happened right there. Sure was. Yep.

They manage to very stiffly shake out of the sheer not-good-thank-you of that sensation to look her dead in the eyes, their own twitching. "How long... were you keeping those... in your pocket..."

Not 'that is not what the game is', not 'why do you have fish on you', no no, those were all far too obvious. But why— oh why— in the name of every soul-sapped zombie they had ever severed the carotid of and propped up like a storefront window display, did they have to be warm!?