After sitting outside for several hours and having next to no attention paid to his fantastical table of sugarpiles (excepting a gnome who had snatched up a handful of tiny packages and shoved them down his pants, which he preferred to not think about), Thackery had lost all hope that he would be able to bestow any of this sweet greatness upon Amityville. Piles of shockolate cakes, risky treats, and skelepoodle cookies, just waiting for death-by-scareflies. It almost broke his heart.
So when he finally heard someone inquiring about them, he bubbled over with excitement, evident in his fast-paced speech and stumbling words.
"Well, actually! You can just take what you want but I'm accepting donations for-"
He had finally poked his head over the piles on the table, and the abrupt stop had come as a result of the sight before him. It was...
it was...
His fingers clenched the edges of the table so hard that it crumpled, sending a few dozen snacks tumbling to his feet.
"Iwouldbehonoredforyoutotakeallofit
I THINK I HAVE SOME BAGS YOU CAN TAKE IT ALL HOME IN-" His voice came out in an ecstatic squeal, and though it seemed like he might have the intention of finding the aforementioned bags, he was frozen in place.