95 angles of normal

Having consumed a rather large portion of breathable existance, johnathan sat back into his armchair. With a sigh, he reflected himself in the glass which was held up by his nemesis.

The glass, was rounded at the top and shortly timed at the mid part. The rest of it was spanning all the way down to the wooden floor of the intimidation room. 

Upon exhailing the non existence, Johnathan's reflection - curved and morphed back onto itself until it yet again became his whole self sitting in the chair across himself. He was quite fond of that particular technique. Having nobody to practice upon, other than the mirror in which the glass that he was holding was reflected Johnathan got quite good at the folding over himself in a most languished way.

Though, this time, it wasnt for no reason. Leanard was present. At least, in the back of Johnathans mind. This was all good practice for the next encounter. Every movement had to be perfect. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed something out of place - Ants.

A thin line of ants, crawling over and across all obstacles that an unpolished piece of wood provided.
Next to the piece of wood, was another, and another, and so forth until they came to the wall.
The angle of attack was simple. The room elongated itself and then skewed into a depth of field where only the ants and the chair with Johnathans upraised eyebrows were sternly locked into an agitated state.

'Do you... Drink?' the ants seemed to ask. 

'Sometimes' Johnathan responded to the hypothetical question.

'Often?' 

'No, no, just sometimes'

The line of ants kept its pace. Steadily crawling onto the wall.

'--And You?' he asked the ants, as there was a clear lack of any communication that needed to be filled with at least something. 

Silence came as a reply. 

A curling voice of a few sprigles wrapped uncomfortably in mud spoke softly from behind him:

'They arent used to alcohol yet'

'Oh' Johnathan stuttered, 'right, of course'

Then, straightening up he released a whimsical tune of a question into the unexhailed sunbstance

'And do you, drink?'

'Always' came the reply

'Whats, err, your poison?' 

If nails were fingers on which fingers grew instead of nails, then that is how the touch of the substance that stroked Johnathans shoulders would feel like at this very moment.

'You know, its very disconcerting that you are able to do that'  Johnathan mumbled into the ether that he was drinking. 

'Yes, well. Perhaps, its time we got a few things straight around here, dont you think?' again came the reply in the most curling that it ever was. 

It is always worth a mention that this was the intimidation room. Johnathans intimidation room at that. And to feel uncomfortable in your place of work is just not right. Its something that Johnathan was becoming uncomfortably aware of.