Eyes... are a curious thing.

Put simply, they're orbs. Simple spheres set in the skulls of most complex animals larger than a bacteria. A membrane covering a hollow ball with sensitive organs, minute and too small to see without a decent mana sense. Used exclusively to detect and comprehend visual inputs to better examine the world surrounding any given creature.

Really, their only use is to look at something. They exert no force, and they don't create any sort of field or emission that can be detected.

So why is it that I can feel, almost as a slight prickle along the fine hairs of the back of my neck, the stare of Pop looking at me?

It makes no sense. All I'm doing is playing with Thesis, doing my utmost best to train her in the ways of trapmaking. She's not very good. Her webs are well-suited, excellent in fact, at catching flies and other small flying insects, but she has yet to create a tripwire or a hidden venom trap. She isn't even producing any offspring, as I failed to acquire the necessary knowledge from the Mother.

"What the heck're you doin', freakshow?"

I sigh deeply. Internally, of course. I can't let too many hints of my superior intelligence come through - it would be counterproductive to my long-term plans to reveal too much about myself. In a pinch, I'm certain I could rewrite some memories, but without a comprehensive knowledge of human biology, it'd likely result in some serious intelligence drops as well, and I'd like to avoid those.

"Hey! Listen when yer father talks to you!"

Not that there's much intelligence to lose in the case of Pop. I have a feeling it has something to do with the ridiculous distortion located around his stomach area - whatever parasite it is that he's hosting, it's taking up quite a lot of space inside him. I don't have a bias against stomach-based parasites, though. They can be quite helpful, especially if they're trained to spring out and attack upon your minion's death. Either way, they tend to sap brain fluids, and I suspect his parasite has not been gracious with its intake.

Standing with a grumble, he makes his way over to me. This is quite the surprise - aside from getting more beer and perhaps retrieving the controller for the vertical scrying plate, Pop never gets off the long, cushy chair. There's a deep impression of his backside set in it. I doubt anyone except him can comfortably use it anymore.

Seizing my wrist, he pulls me up to a standing position, glaring at me with his bloodshot eyes. Once again, my mind is set off on an interesting tangent regarding the alternate uses of an eye, at least before he shakes me. Jarred, I focus my attention on him with a slight frown. "What?"

"You weren't listening to me. That's not just disrespectful, it's outright ungrateful."

I snort loudly. "Mother brings home food and takes me places. You sit all day. Why would I be grateful? Why should I be respeck - resp - re-spect-full." I say the word a few times, rolling it around my mouth until it feels right, and my face curves into a foolish smile against my wishes.

His face flushes, and he leans in closer, raising my arm higher until it begins to hurt. "Listen here, freakshow. I'm your dad, whether you like it or not. That means if I tell you to kiss my feet, you ask me how long, got it?"

My eyes meet his. I, unlike him, am perfectly serious and at the peak of my mental capacities at all times. My mind is a flawlessly tuned instrument of precision, which leaves me with an unequaled ability to come up with creative retorts at will.

"You suck."

As I said, the peak of creativity.

Face contorting in anger, he lifts me entirely off the ground, then sees Thesis. I've been pumping a tiny amount of mana into her every day for the past four days, and her size has improved exponentially. She's hardly the final boss I used to own, but she can fit comfortably in the palm of my hand.

Shouting a word I don't know the definition of, he lets go of my arm and jumps back to his chair. Rubbing my sore wrist, I extend a hand to Thesis, and she crawls on. Turning to Pop, I level my gaze at him.

My eyes are more intimidating than most, according to Charlie and the useless woman who flinched upon seeing them. They might simply be a common eye with uncommonly dark pigmentation, but either way, I am told they are intimidating. If eyes can be used as weapons, then I will wield mine mercilessly.

Staring deep into his eyes, I hold up Thesis. He retreats further, repeating the word I don't know the meaning of. Focusing on his eyes, I say very quietly, very firmly, "You suck. Leave me alone."

I return to my experimentation and testing with Thesis, immensely pleased with my grammatical and literary accomplishments.

Pop doesn't bother me again.