So the Alastair laddie, he takes off for a bit, kindly running some errands for me. (Bastard also cleaned my bathtub, thereby slapping every single last joke about such in my face, but nevermind that). He returns with a paper bag with some pasteries in. Nothing terribly interesting. A muffin, some tasty crescent rolls. Then an hour or so later he creeps in on me, all unsuspecting of his nefarious catch of the day. A CTHULU COOKIE! A skellington of the Lovecraftian terror, no less.
We took a picture of his glorious prize, the likes of which I had never seen. It’s nefarious gingerbread scent wafting delectably upwards, he had mere moments to snap the evidence shot. I took off the elder gods leg, hamstringing him so that he may not escape my awesome bitey powers. There was great carnage. His head lays on my desk like the keepings of war.