[Jesus, mister scary alien, you're not supposed to be nice and say things like you like baking for people. You're supposed to be properly scary so they can actually avoid you. Soldat accepts the paper and pencil back from Kal, expression perfectly bland, because otherwise it might have gone sour at that thought.

They're tense, but pretty good at keeping that under wraps-- from standard humans, though, not magical aliens.]

So do I. Cooking for, anyway.

[There's just something satisfying in feeding people. (And themselves, of course.) Makes a nice change from killing them. They stare for a moment at the paper, then, without looking up, ask,]

Why the fuck did you even make me cupcakes. You don't know me, and I'm scared of you.