Kian lay his head back on the floor as soon as everybody left him. He knew - he just knew - that he was about to faint.
Not again, he metally groaned. Why? Why is it always me that faints?
He looked at the little box, ignoring the legs, and returned its stare.
"And what do you want?" It continued to look at him, inviting him to take bandages, and whatever else was in there. Come, take them, it seemed to say.
"Don't look at me in that insolent way! What do you want? Don't you know you're addressing the Lord of the Dance?" Kian knew he was being stupid. It was a box, for goodness sake.
It looked at him.
"I know," it seemed to say, strangely, "but I'm a box. What are you going to do about it?"
"Are you really the Lord of the Dance?" said a girl's voice. "I thought that was Michael Flatley?"
Kian turned to look. "What?!"