"Martin!" Came the feverish yell from the living room.
Martin was sat at the kitchen table with his late-lunch and the paper before dropping both (one literally, the other metaphorically) to find the source of such terror, but not before picking up a weapon.
He ran as fast as his not-at-all-little legs could carry him, burst through the door, butcher knife in hand, to find -
Douglas. Standing on the couch. Panicking. "Douglas? What's going on?" Martin asked, scanning the room for the for the horrifying atrocity that could cause Douglas Richardson to panic so -
"A mouse!" Douglas gasped, looking as if he debated climbing higher, although that would surely topple his pedestal.
"A mouse?" Martin parroted. No, no it couldn't be!
"Yes! A mouse! It ran under the cabinet!" Douglas frantically informed. Martin couldn't help himself, he burst out laughing.
"Y-you're scared of-of mice!" He gasped, holding onto his sides so they wouldn't rip apart.
"Yes!"
"Mighty Douglas Richardson is scared of mice!?"
"Not scared, exactly..."
"Oh, should I leave the Sky God to vanquish his, frankly meagre, foe?" Martin smirked, turning to exit the room.
"I'll give you the cheese tray!" Douglas bartered, and, honestly, Martin felt bad leaving him to have a panic attack.
He shooed the mouse away easily before shutting it outside and Douglas gaped at him. "You'd never guess how many mice used to be in my attic..." He shrugged.
"The attic I slept in?!"
"The very same," Martin smirked, returning to his food and paper triumphant