Cross casts Timcampy a dirty look, something so encompassing that it's not even remotely polite to use on humans. As if to spite him, he takes a Victoria's Secret catalog and starts to shred it, much to Timcampy's dismay.

"I don't talk." Cross mutters, hands flying on the shelves pulling out terrible combinations of spices like turmeric, cinnamon and anise and putting on a cup of tea before slumping on the ground to get away from the sun.

"Make yourself useful, make breakfast." Because obviously, him acting like an adult is just a little hard at the moment.