[Wilson meanwhile has zero idea that Scott is playing a game of chicken, so he's gonna get cut! His fingers glide over the knives thoughtfully, faltering on the cream cheese spreader. Thoughts of Vanessa well up and he quickly clamps them down. Nope.] I was going to do with a cleaver, but paring knife it is. [He pulls said knife out of the drawer and shuts it with a clink and rattle of silverware.

The question leaves him quiet, pretending to be simply taking a look at his potential canvas, starting with Scott's back.]

I filled my apartment up with barrels of gasoline and light a cigarette... then laid on top of them-- so back shoulder? Chest? What are we thinking?