One word challenge - Knock.
"Brilliant. Insubordinate. Unstable."
They're just words.
--))--
My car engine is knocking. That means there's a problem with the way the fuel-air mix is being ignited by the spark plugs. The stuff in the cylinder is exploded in two separate pockets instead of all in one go. Like, a mis-fire. A flash in the pan.
Could be nothing. Or, it could completely wreck my engine. It would be ... unwise to ignore it. Always listen to what your engine is telling you.
--))--
Or, a reversal of fortune. Get knocked back, like pizza dough that's risen too high. Too much sugar in with the yeast. Too rich. Too much gas, too much inflation. Gotta be knocked back a bit. Better shape up, or ship out. I'm - what did she say? - "He thinks he's brilliant. But he's insubordinate and unstable." Yeah. So in the regular way of things, I need to be knocked back. To preserve the natural order. Keep things balanced.
--))--
Or, knock on wood. I'm not superstitious. Superstition is a hangover of pre-Christian paganism, that's all. (The word hangover comes from when Victorian flop-house owners provided wooden benches and lengths of rope slung from wall-to-wall for drunks to - literally - 'hang over'.)
Mom was scared of black cats and ladders. She'd touch wood at every given opportunity. Seeing her do that taught me not to be scared of that stuff. It made me realise I couldn't trust her judgement.
--))--
Or, a crummy joke. I can juggle, I can do magic, wanna see? But I don't like telling a joke. That kind of fake vocal expression is too uncomfortable for me, unless maybe I've had a few beers. It has to be a set piece. Too much like talking. Too much like an intimacy. Too many people looking at my face and my eyes and my lips, instead of at my hands and my fingers and the props I'm using: scarves, a knife, feathers, cards, dice, keys. I'll let people look in my eyes if I want them to see what is there, if there's something there I can tap into and I can use ... "I just lost my mom. My mom died recently. Could I get a glass of water from you? Please?"
The grief in my eyes is genuine. I'll let her see it, if it means I can make the child safe.
Distract the woman. Pull the carving knife away from the child's throat. Push the woman towards the kitchen and the child towards Eames.
--))--
Or, the shortest story ever written. The Knock by Fredric Brown. You ever heard of Walter Phelan? He was the Last Man On Earth.
He finally meets the last woman on Earth but she isn't buying his line and stalks off. It was the basis for the shortest ever short story -
"The last man on Earth sat alone in a room. There was a knock on the door - "
Yeah, I get that. It'd be just my luck - or, the luck of the entire human race - that if I were the last man on Earth, the last woman would be Alex Eames.