Rich opens the door to his crusty old garage. All sorts of lab equipment covers the countertops or spills out of the cupboards. He stands a full six feet tall, maybe more. He adjusts the sunglasses on his head, price tag still attached, and smooths back his insanely pointed hair. After taking in the astonishing cleanliness of his usually dirty garage, he pinches the bridge of his nose.
"Mortella, you bi-*burp*-itch. Th-this isn't even clean," Rich grumbles.
Mortella gasps and drops her broom. She turns around. Her grandfather gestures to the countertop closest to the door.
"Yeah, i-i-it is," Mortella says, coming closer and looking at it.
Rich bumps over a beaker on the countertop, spilling a gooey yellow paste onto the floor. Mortella squeaks at the sound of the glass breaking. Rich rolls his eyes.
"Here," he says, handing her a roll of bills.
She reaches for it, but Rich holds it up over her head once her hand comes too close.
He adds, "AFTER you *burp* finish cleaning."
"Oh, r-right," Mortella mumbles.
She looks away. She brushes a loose strand of curly brown hair behind her ear, silently wishing it had been tied into the pigtail resting there. Rich gestures towards the mess. Mortella sighs and straightens out her yellow dress with white polka dots. Frowning, she starts mopping the paste half-heartedly.
"Jeez, you look like a n-nineteen-fifties housewife or *burp* something. G-go buy something m-more modern."
Rich drops the wad of bills on the floor and immediately leaves the garage. Mortella scans the room, making sure he's really gone. She drops the mop and then scoops up the bills. She smiles. However, once she unfolds them, her smile dissipates. They're all ones.