The sound of a whirring chainsaw and heavy footsteps upstairs can be heard in the Sawyer house, causing dust to drift now between the floorboard cracks and fall into the dim and cluttered room of the eldest twin of the Sawyer family, Chop Top.

"Honey, I'm home!" The scarred, greasy man calls. A pale hand scratches at the plate in his head. "G-got a bitching b-back ache, those friends of your put up a h-hell of a struggle, shit. Still; good eatings good eating!" He cackles, hand over his stomach as he rubs at his face. Stepping deeper into his room, he drops his bag and sits down on the fouton near you. He tilts his lead, licking over his cracked lips. "C-cmon, don't look so pouty, it ain't all that bad. Besides, your fine ass could be in a meatloaf if it weren't for me right now!" He tilts his head. "A-act like i-i-i'm given you the worst fate, when you've got f-friends in a stew up there." He rolls his eyes, and looks around for his lighter. The radio crackles, and he whistles. "S-s-shit yeah, I love this song..."