He swears Anon is bipolar. They’d barely made it a mile away from the tower and they’d gone through a slew of emotions. Miguel was tired of hearing ’I can’t believe I did this!’, and ‘I’m a despicable human being’, or ‘This is the best day of my life!’ among the various other things they shouted to the treetops. The warring emotions were making his head spin and they were on a timetable, much to his dismay.

Of course, he wasn’t keen on being a part of this deal, so if Anon did decide to back out it would work in his favor. Naturally, he worked up the charm once more, casually sauntering over to where they were curled up and bawling into their arms. “You know, I can’t help but see you’re a little… unsettled about this whole thing.”

It was in Miguel’s best interest to try to talk his way out of the deal he’d made with Anon, though he was wary — eyeing the cast iron skillet Anon had adopted as their signature weapon. His head still throbbed from where they smacked him with it earlier.

Feigning concern for his newfound companion, he made a face of worry and gently wrapped an arm around their shoulders. “I hate to say it but… I’m cuttin’ you out of the deal. You go back to the tower, I get my satchel back, you don’t have to worry about disappointing mother-dearest! It’s a win-win all around and we end the day as good friends. What do you say?”