"Guess who, you old monster," a voice whispered gaily.
"Unhand me, you perfidious little heller," Marc grated.
"Beast!"
The hands snapped away from Marc's eyes, and he looked up to see Toffee scowling down at him. Her green eyes were alive with annoyance, and her red hair hung loosely about her shoulders like cascading flame. Her transparent emerald-colored tunic was, as always, a completely disinterested party when it came to the matter of concealing her comely figure. One gold-sandaled foot was tapping a silent tattoo against the grass.
"Sometimes," she said evenly, "you turn my stomach. The way you keep shoving me away from you all the time, you'd think I wasn't gorgeous or something. It's beginning to ruin my self-confidence. Just a little peck or pat at the proper moment wouldn't hurt you any, you know."
"Do you have to be quite so effusive with your greetings?" Marc asked timidly. "Couldn't we just shake hands?"
"Shake hands!" Toffee exploded. "If that doesn't take the brass-lined girdle! I don't care what you shake. You can shimmy from one end of this valley to the other, but you needn't expect me to be a party to it. I wash my hands of you. And good riddance!"
And with that, she retreated to the far side of the grove and draped herself angrily against a tree, arms folded. She regarded Marc icily from the corner of her eye.
"Of all the thankless, gutless worms, I would have to wind up with you," she muttered. "You'd look good with your ugly head bashed in."