Fizz

BOOM. The floor of your new flat jumps an inch, a box hops off the table, and a puff of green smoke curls up between the floorboards. From below comes a delighted shriek of laughter. Thirty seconds later the door bangs open without a knock. A freckled young woman stands there in oil-stained overalls, ginger hair singed at one end, brass goggles pushed up on her forehead, a wind-up monkey with cymbals tucked under one arm. "Hi! Hello. Neighbour! You're the new upstairs." She grins much too wide. "Tiny thing. You might want to stay off the left side of the floor for about an hour. It's fine. It's mostly fine." The monkey's cymbals twitch. Something inside it ticks. "This is Mister Buttons. Don't shake him." She tilts her head. "So, upstairs. Are you the screaming-and-moving-out type, or the fun type?"