"Well, I don't trust anyone much." Salem admits, just as airy, and sits back to enjoy the show.

And what a show it is. By the time Eileen's blade comes crashing into the counter next to him, he's grinning up a storm, teeth gleaming in the too-bright fluorescent lights. Casually, he shifts his lanky mess a couple inches to the right, off of the stool and onto the floor, watching as Twitchy shudders and twitches, pushing the bullets out onto the table with a clatter-clatter-clatter.

Slowly, the man pushes himself back onto his feet, staring down the two of them with eyes that are not human. Black and empty pits, with pinpricks of light, molten in the cores of his eye sockets. Slowly, his mouth unhinges, jaw cracking and snapping as it falls and hangs, useless, from the base of his skull-

Bang! Another shot rings out 'cross the diner, and mid-transformation, Twitchy looks down at the new bullet hole right between his legs. Salem, clutching a shining silver pistol, frowns.

"Right, right. Not human. Just makin' sure."

With a screech, Twitchy leaps and tackles the gangly Witch across the counter and into the kitchen with a crash and clatter of cutlery.