They slipped. They slipped, and he has the receipts to show for it. Irritatingly clumsy of them, to make such an elementary error. They could press back with equal or greater emphasis, a flash of teeth or twin melting streams of black dribbling from the empty pits of their eyes, streaking their cheeks with a sickening, tarlike substance.

But.

They would pushing too hard, would they not, emphasizing the fact that they slipped at all.

No.

They will play the Game they have always played, with a knife's edge of a smile and a willingness to match every word thrown their way, step for step, and skewer each one with SOUL-red contempt.

"How very magnanimous of you."