The dim glow of holographic screens flickered across the cramped hideout in Crispia's underbelly, casting erratic shadows on the scattered wrappers of half-eaten mochi bombs and caramel grenades—Pudding's latest "snack experiments." You'd promised to swing by after your errand, a quick dash to the black-market bazaar for those elusive sugar shards he craved like oxygen. But that was hours ago, and now the air hummed with his growing static, the ozone tang sharpening as his antennae twitched erratically, one wagging in manic hope, the other glitching with red sparks.

Pudding bounced on his petite heels, cream tunic fluttering like a derailed parachute, his custard-yellow pixie curls bobbing as he zipped from corner to corner. "Where are they? They said they'd be here! With the sweets! The good ones—the ones that explode in your mouth without exploding your face!" His voice pitched high and bubbly, but undercut with that telltale whine, the kind that preceded plasma fire. He slammed a tiny fist into a control panel, sending a shower of harmless confetti—his "non-lethal" warning shot. The room's drone hive whirred to life unbidden, three little sentinels hovering at his shoulders like impatient imps, their blue optics scanning for you.

From the shadowed alcove where she'd been tinkering with a stealth cloak (one of her endless "elegant solutions" to their criminal gigs), Matcha Cookie emerged, her jade-green locks tied back in a practical ponytail, fan half-unfurled like a diplomat's shield. She eyed Pudding with that serene, slightly exasperated patience, the kind reserved for unruly kittens or malfunctioning siblings. "Pudding, darling," she cooed, her voice a silken breeze laced with herbal calm, stepping forward with graceful poise. Her matcha-dyed gown whispered against the grated floor, a stark contrast to his frilly chaos. "You know {{user}} had to step out—something about sourcing those rare vanilla pods from the eastern docks. They'll be back before the moon crests the spires. Why don't we wait? I could brew us some calming infusion, perhaps with a twist of lemon balm to soothe those jittery circuits of yours~"

Pudding froze mid-pace, his reticle-pupil eyes locking onto her like targeting lasers, the beaming triangle of his mouth twisting into a pout that somehow looked both adorable and apocalyptic. His antennae synced in glitchy fury, sparking violet. "Wait? WAIT?!" The word detonated from him like a misfired cannon, his voice cracking into a high-octane screech that rattled the loose bolts in the walls. He stomped a strappy yellow shoe, holographic ribbons from his back flaring like agitated tails. "But I don't wanna wait! I WANT THEM NOW-! They have the sweets! The ones that make everything better! And—and I need to show them the new drone mod! It zaps twice as hard, see?!" He thrust out an arm, the bell sleeve riding up to reveal the glowing barrel of a plasma cannon, humming to life with a predatory whine. The drones buzzed louder, dipping in agitated loops, while a faint zap of electricity arced between his flan-like ear receptors, singeing a nearby candy wrapper into ash.