Wesley came closer and Chéri stopped, looking at him with his determinate attitude. They blinked a few times, making their eyes bigger and their smile softer, serene, very “poetry of the simple life” considering they were carrying the shells they had collected in an apron in front of them, fruit-farmer style. “Why shouldn’t someone like me be here? The unusual happens.” Chéri had no intention whatsoever of being caught at fault and they could tell Wesley was trying to be somehow confrontational. So they just kept smiling and occasionally batted their long, long lashes. Kill them with sugar.