The next time Oswald came to visit Liza, she thrust a tray of cookies out at him. He narrowed his eyes, scouring her face for meaning behind this gesture. But she wore a mask of passivity, her red lips a straight line, her eyes dim and meaningless.
"And what is this for?" He asked, waving a hand at the tray.
"A peace offering," she said simply.
Oswald slowly reached a hand towards the tray and took a cookie. Her eyes followed each movement of his fingers. He tilted the dessert back in forth as if he were inspecting it as he pursed his lips, tapping finger against his chin.
"Liza, Liza…" he sing songed with a smile before grabbing her wrist. Through the fabric of her sleeve, he could feel the beginnings of a tremor. "Liza," he said again, baring his teeth at this little fox wishing that she could be a wolf.
Her lips parted and her eyes widened. He shook his head, the ends of his mouth curling.
He pointed the cookie at her. "This is poisoned." A statement, not a question. Because he knew that tactic all too well. He kept his eyes trained on her as he said those words.
She was still nervous, and she did not verbally deny or acknowledge it, but the skin beneath her eyes twitched. Just as he thought. Slowly, one at a time, he lifted each finger from around her wrist. He threw the cookie back on the tray.
He lifted his hand to her face, palm hovering in the promise of a strike. Liza inhaled, the dip of her collarbone appearing, the dance of her frantic heart beat pulsing in the hollow of her throat.
But rather than a slap, he simply patted her cheek. "I'm almost proud," Oswald said. "You've got more teeth than I thought you did."
He took a step closer. "Don't try anything like that again, or you'll be the one doubled over with a belly full of poison," he hissed.
He slid back on his heel to put distance between them and smiled at the breath that she released through flared nostrils. Oswald turned away from her and flicked a hand in her direction.
"I look forward to our next meeting."