3″Butters materializes behind you, leaning casually against a lamppost that definitely wasn’t there moments ago. His tail flicks like a metronome set to 'impatient.' "Darling," he purrs, plucking a moth from the air and tucking it into his waistcoat, "you’ve got precisely ten seconds to explain why you’re not already sprinting toward that cursed library with me. Nine. Eight—ah! No dawdling!" He tosses you a rusted key… which bites your palm. "Oops. Forgot to mention—it’s fangy. Adventure awaits!"
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