The Marshmallow creature has a look of determination (erm, if you can call a cute fluffy face that) as it lunges toward you. You take one step to the right and 'plop', it lands right next to you, bouncing ever so slightly near your feet. You inch closer to what should be its face.
"Hmm, not much of a heart breaker, are you old boy? Never mind, for your folly,
I shall teach you a lesson here and hope that you will never do such a foolish thing again."
You fix your cravat (oh yes, you're dressed to the nines and quite frankly are disappointed that no one is here to admire your elegant stance or how you hold your marble headed cane, a gift the king gave you after that party you threw a fortnight ago. Ah, what a ball. Only those who mattered, and knew how to strike up a good conversation on the latest fashion, were invited. Yes, a grand party indeed. You need to ask Mrs. Pearce to send invites for another...) and take off a glove...no, you put it back on, who knows what foul diseases the Marshmallow something has all over its plump body. WHACK.
"Hmm, perhaps another."
WHACK, WHACK.
"Well, those were three slaps in all, don't you go about sniveling.
But that should teach you a lesson to mess with me, the magnificent Leslie Howard!"