Scar's face actually reflects incredulity at the invasion of his personal space. His surprise is quick to fade into familiar determination. Scar is tired. Like, that tired you can feel in your bone marrow after a panic attack.

He looks Beetlejuice dead in the eye.

"I have been chased out of a corner store by a stampede," he said, "I was deposited onto an airbase where I was forced into a flying machine of unknowable origin and sent hurtling across the sky. The underpass back into the city gave way to a system of tunnels rivaling the bottom of Central's sewers. In those tunnels was a bestial worm wider than you are tall with human teeth larger than dinner plates and a determination to eat me."

Scar lifts the singular piece of ginger between them. The eye contact he is maintaining with Juice, dangling upside down in front of him, is intense on a level one would struggle to put into words.

"I am not jeopardizing this soup for a lapse of patience. Yours, or mine."

...

"Unexpected item in the bagging area."

Scar's eyes track Beetlejuice's trajectory until he lands on the shambling ruins of the first kiosk. His eyes pin him there, and for a beat, he holds.

He approaches the operational display.

He withdraws the unexpected item from the bagging area.

G

I

N

G

E

R

A single bead of sweat slips down Scar's temple. The remaining items go in without a hitch. Scar draws his Skitty coin purse from his pocket, pressing the bills flat and slotting the change into the machine.

The deed is done, and Scar basks in it, a broken man, staring into his humble haul of soup ingredience and novelty ice cream. The receipt prints.

Scar's eyes turn briefly to Beetlejuice and his throne of smouldering wreckage. He nods. The bag goes into his personal cart, and he pockets the receipt.

As he's heading toward the sliding doors of the entrance, he briefly pauses to turn back to his companion of the afternoon, deathly serious.

"I'm going home. No more antics."