Boss Copperhead, who had been keeping a close eye on Little Slick, walked over. "What's that noise? Don't muck about. If you knock over the equipment, I'm gonna get angry."
Then he saw a Gretchin crawl out between Little Slick's fingers. Before the Gretchin could find his footing, Boss Copperhead picked him up.
"Copperhead, it's me. I'm Boss Slick."
The Gretchin's very first words sent Boss Copperhead into peals of laughter. "Hahaha, you're too funny! Hahahaha! You've got a real gift for comedy, you little Gretchin! If you're Boss Slick, then I'm Gork's avatar!"
A tiny sliver cut from Boss Slick's consciousness had attached itself to the Gretchin. His words really weren't very convincing.
After he finished laughing, Boss Copperhead reached out and flicked the Gretchin on the head. "Get back to work. Eat fewer hallucinogenic mushrooms, and lay off the fungus beer. You're talking nonsense."
That flick left even the sliver of Boss Slick's consciousness a little stunned. Since when had anyone dared flick him on the head?
The little Gretchin raised his hand high and swung it, but his arm was too short, and he hit nothing but air.
Seeing such a comical gesture, Boss Copperhead was about to laugh again when a sharp smack rang out atop his bald head. The blow drove his head down between his shoulders.
What's going on? Why does that psychic slap feel so familiar?
Boss Copperhead raised his head and stared at the Gretchin in shock. Could a little Gretchin really deliver a psychic slap like that?
"Nice sound. Nice head," the Gretchin said.
This time, Boss Copperhead believed him. The Gretchin's words and manner were far too much like Boss Slick's. After following Boss Slick for so long, he could at least recognize that much.
"Boss Slick? How's that possible?