His anger rose with each passing moment, until finally he exploded into a demonic rage. First, his face contorted into an evil mass, his eyes leaping out accusingly towards her. Then he began to dribble uncontrollably, and, as the saliva slipped from his chin, he shot his arms upwards – fingers outstretched – and arched his head backwards. His hands shook and transformed into vile, reptilian claws as he opened his throat and bellowed. He twitched his torso to the left, almost raising himself up from where he sat and, with all his strength, cleaved his hands downwards in an arc until abruptly arrested by the table’s surface. He fell silent. Slowly, his neck craned forward, his face lifting towards Vivienne. His eyes, barely visible beneath his tossed hair, first rolled inward, then glared at her in accusation. His fingers, now dug into the table’s top, began their excruciating journey backwards, the surface curling up and breaking beneath his blistered talons. The exploding shards glittered as his tongue coiled out of his mouth and bent around to lick the spittle from below his own chin. He then leaned forward, his stare never leaving Vivienne, and tasted the table where some of it had come to rest. He pulled his fingers from the rippled channels they had made, lay his hands gently in his lap and took a deep breath. “But enough of me,” he whispered, “let’s talk about you”.