Caesar got his back. Then his hair, then his collar, then his shoulders, then his back again. Glitter was everywhere, glitter was still flying, and Cesar's fate was sealed: he'd been infected with the herpes of the arts-and-crafts world.

This time Cesar found cover behind a free-standing set of bookshelves. There were gaps between each shelf, but he took cover behind a section that had a lot of tall, obscuring boxes, and tossed a pair of cascarones between a gap. One shell turned out to be confetti, but the other was glitter.

"Running low on cascarones, yet?" Cesar taunted, trying to regain some psychological ground. "When you do, I'll be ready!" He straightened to throw another cascaron, before snatching himself out of the way of a well-thrown retaliation.