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[color=b18f71][b][i]Interactions - [/i][/b][/color][@Shellshock][/center]
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With an obsidian gaze shifting its focus, if only for a moment, Neoh turned his attention to a new addition which had blessed their team, with her presence. Count Hackula, Neoh called her, with the extended title referring along the lines of 'Esteemed Techno Count Hackula, of Robovania.' It was, however, as one might agree, a far too extravagant title in terms of efficiency. The young hero would proceed to exchange such glamour for a simpler approach. Count Hackula sufficed, and none would complain, when spared Neoh's insistence on proclaiming the girl's entire handle, at every conceivable opportunity. A title he had conjured forth himself, one might add. 

He leaned back against the otherwise cold, metallic floor, eyes darting back to those brownies in an attempt to maintain vigilance. He could not burn them again. Though, despite stakes reaching immense heights, Neoh did quite enjoy the comfort of a chilled floor against his pale, bare skin. 

It might have been a surprise to see this young artist, the tailor, and fashion designer, in a pair of shorts along with a tank top hugging his scrawny frame. Indeed, flamboyant wear often made its way to Neoh's frame, but at times of comfort and relaxation, one would grow used to seeing this young hero in little more than shorts, and sleeveless shirts. 

With a small smile revealing itself upon his features, Neoh offered a response to the girl, his face a cute addition, if there ever was one. None in their right mind, apart from maybe the boy's mother, would consider him handsome, a compliment reserved for those of chiseled chins, and strong chests. However, adorable, endearing, and perhaps even pretty might have sounded more accurate. It would not have been the first time he was mistaken for a girl, of the same age. [color=39b54a]"My story,"[/color] the boy began, tapping his chin, before pulling his bare, scrawny legs closer to his body. 

To be called Oscar Wilde was quite wholesome, in a way. A friendly approach, nicknames. The fiery hero who had presented the handle Fire Fist had managed to string together a play on words, for Neoh. Spectacles, from Spectral, which in turm elevated to Specs. It had, however, proceeded to earn laughter from the young fashion designer. It was nifty, something he could not deny. [color=39b54a]"How far back in the script shall we go?"[/color] Neoh considered his words, before eventually presenting a response. [color=39b54a]"Retaining some mystery will only add to the plot, would you not agree?"[/color] A faint grin bridged its way across his lips. [color=39b54a]"Let's start with a more recent chapter."[/color]

Beneath Neoh, a large, white sword manifested itself into existence. As if ghostly sand forming the shape, a dangerous weapon made itself known, glimmering in reflection of a large kitchen's lights. Opposing its apparent nature, however, the manifestation appeared entirely tangible, where Neoh used his creation as little more than a chair. It lifted him from the floor, pulling him to the boy's feet, before vanishing in a similarly spectacular instant. Onlookers would perhaps have considered the scene an awesome revelation. However, those who were more familiar with Neoh's shenanigans would immediately point at the core of this display. Laziness. [color=39b54a]"Though I can look back at a life of comfort and luxury, I shared the same fascination with heroics, as both peasant, and king,"[/color] Neoh explained. [color=39b54a]"Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered, one might say, for that was something I could attest to."[/color] The theatrical boy continued, [color=39b54a]"by the tales of dragon slaying knights roaming our streets."[/color]

Turning to the oven, Neoh's eyes widened. It was time. [color=39b54a]"Ah! Pray for a victory fanfare!"[/color] An excited exclamation left the teenager's lips, a small hand pulling the oven hatch open, for that intoxicating scent to spread its wings, and fly across the kitchen. Slipping into a pair of oven mitts, Neoh freed his artwork from its warm confines, and carefully placed the large, black plate on the metallic surface. 

An expression of absolute delight undoubtedly revealed anticipated results. The brownies were perfect. Sixth time's the charm.