Agatha looked at the box and crossed her arms around her waist, her lips pursing and her forehead wrinkling as she screwed up her face in thought. The areas around her scar discolored, going Crimson as the facial expression pushed blood around under her pale skin. Her mind cast back to memories of her youth, sitting at the feet of her neighbor while she breast fed her baby, she had always told Agatha that 'Life was like a box of chocolates, it's short if you think people just hand out chocolate.'

As she thought, she tapped her foot rapidly against the concrete floor, her fingers tapping against the wrench that hung on her belt by her side. "Aye," Agatha began, moving a stray lock of hair from her face before placing her hands on the table, bolstering her weight as she leaned in, "I can understand why you picked this pikey," she said, gesturing to Will, "But why the fuck did you pick me?"