Boom. He even makes some fingerguns at that, because Pulp Fiction plus fireworks equals yes. The closets can give some of that stuff over, no charge, right? Totally. Shouldn't be a problem.

"I'm sold," Alex says with a shrug, before eyeing the surrounding equipment warily. "What's all this about a calendar, anyway? I don't think the organizer's wild about me helping out too much."

Mostly because he insulted her taste and called her an uninspired sell-out because he's a pretentious hipster. Making friends, the Kralie way.