Despite individual humans being very breakable, when taken as a whole they could be difficult to manage. Not Quentin and his little group, always so twitchy whenever he went to see them. No, it was more, hmmm... the systems? Yes, the systems these humans came up with. Take Starbucks for example. He didn't want to wait in a line with the crush of jabbering humans. The first time he'd went to one and someone had tried to make him wait, he'd popped their heads off one by one. They were already all in row after all. But the problem was, after he was done, the little people behind the counter wouldn't come out to make him a drink. Even when he threatened them quite seriously, all they would do was cry and retch and plead. One started praying. It was horrible.
So now he has to wait, the power of a god trapped in this stupid human system because without realising it, they designed it quite well. One of the okay parts of the wait is learning how the system works. He needs money, which he has, though not always the right kind. He also needs a name. This is... it makes him feel funny inside. The one from before, who played with him in the castle, had called him darling, sweeting, my heart, but he knows now that these are not real names. In fact, you can call anyone those things. He doesn't like how that knowledge makes him feel either. He doesn't like this situation. He doesn't like this situation at all, and if he weren't alone someone could do it for him and it would all be better. But no one will come with him unless he makes them and sometimes that's too much like work, nothing like a game at all.
He realised even the dogs in the parks had names, he tried a few of them but none seemed right. Nothing feels right in this body's stomach, along the back of its neck. All the names he's tried slither off all wrong wrong wrong; Nigel, Eliot, Monster. It hates them all. Nothing feels good to it at all, except-