Soon after Tony's little song had ended, the puppets sat in silence. Again, they were shocked, if not more traumatized this time than whatever the Notebook had wound up doing.
His efforts, something that Notebook thought of as a rite of becoming sentient, had not gone unnoticed. She would have to pay him a little visit, perhaps get creative with him as well.
Days passed since Tony became self aware, or at least made himself known, that two finally and formally met.
The puppets were out of the house for the day, doing whatever it was that they did out there. Tony took the time to look around the house, wondering if there were others like him.
"Hello, Friend. I saw your little performance yesterday. I must say, it was quite creative." She pipped up as he passed her, perched on the shelf.
Tony looked around, searching for the source of the voice.
"I must say, I don't recall ever seeing you. This is quite out of the blue." Tony greeted back, upon seeing her.
"It was quite impressive but it could have been more creative."
Tony took some offense to that. He'd worked hard at it and this over glorified pile of paper had the gall to say his little presentation hadn't been good enough?
"I wouldn't mean to be rude but I believe that it was more than 'creative' enough." He replied, visibly annoyed.
"Come now, a little more 'flare' wouldn't' have hurt. Maybe a bit more color." She continued, pretending to ignore his annoyance.
...
The two were in the kitchen shortly afterwards. After Note had insisted repetitively, Tony reluctantly agreed hoping that she'd pipe down about it.
She pointed at the quaint basket of fruit on the table.
"This orange. What do you see in it?" She asked curiously.
Tony, who was bored out of his mind at this point, picked it up.
As soon as he touched it, it began to rot.
The firm, fragrant fruit began to grow soft and fuzzy. Soon it decomposed into a heap.
He stared at it for a moment. It was no shock to him, in fact he had been expecting it to happen. Perhaps even willed it to be.
"...Death." He said bluntly.
"M-My orange!" She sobbed.
Note stared in shock, tears formed in her eyes. Her orange-it was ruined! No longer was it the small, cute and lively fruit that greeted her every morning and kept her company during the times when the puppets were out of the house, leaving her alone.
"You-you bastard." She cried as the shock wore off and turned into anger. How dare he? This was her territory. Howdare he destroy her sole companion during the lone hours of solitude that was the artist's struggle.
A fearsome storm of pencils and ink flew in Tony's direction. The clock did his best to dodge the incoming projectiles with his lanky form.
She chased him back up the wall where she spent the next several weeks glaring at him.