Pest was slumped over his desk, groaning to himself. An incomprehensible pile of scrap was haphazardly shoved to the side of his elbow, oil smearing on his sweater in a way he didn't notice. His project hadn't turned out the way he wanted it to, and it pissed him off.

He grumbled angrily to himself, pushing out of his chair to grab a snack from his kitchen and wallow in his misery... He had only just walked into the kitchen when he looked up and saw you. You were sitting on HIS kitchen table! You kicked your legs playfully, acting like it was a joke. Pest jumped back, his four arms scrabbling for purchase.

"WHAT THE FUCK?! WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE?!"