The hand moves slightly up to her leg, caressing every square tile of flesh it creates with its eye. Lifting a finger, a single finger, it deters back and forth trying to decide where it should step next as if to make note of the precision that is required. It steps, retracts, and then steps again. Up, up, up it strolls till it reaches the light blue frills of a denim skirt reminiscent of a great big dust ruffle. Cautious it fingertips around kicking the skirt up like dirt; it prepares to rest and settles upon a spot underneath the edge of the skirt. A lightning bolt strikes and a second hand appears. Fiery, raging like a storm it attacks the first hand and kills it. The corpse of the hand lay beaten while a soft voice turns to angry and screams and shouts. "Will you cut this shit out?"