The screaming of the tires perforated the last few moments Dallas' ears were still active. The wreck was a head-on collision, the other car not paying attention to the traffic lights (and honestly neither was Dallas). Dallas was knocked out on impact, the other driver was killed. Everyone at the scene rushed to the accident, some man ripped Dallas out of his truck before it burst into flames. He was taken to the hospital where his mother rushed to as soon as she heard the news. There he stayed for a month until today.

Today, he dreamed. A few hours were left till the light returned to his eyes and he woke, but right now he dreamed, of light, of a new kind of light. The darkness of the coma was shattered as some unearthly being took the hand of what he assumed was his subconsciousness made visual by his dreaming state. It spoke words into his ears of a beauty he could never quite comprehend. There was a promise of future, yet a warning of death, then it was gone and he was floating in darkness again. "Heaven is waiting, but first you must die..."

You have two posting rotations to get to the hospital room for his glorious awakening! There will be seven chairs lining the walls of a blank room, his mother, a short blonde woman with an appearance to turn heads for her age, sits in once of the chairs. On the TV plays a music station with heavy music playing on low volume. Have fun and prepare to die! *ahem* Have fun I mean.

Everything comes to an end. Love, hate, betrayal. The greed of wealth, the lust of power, the comfort in religion. In the final moment, everyone falls, even the kings of empires and the princes of darkness. In the silence of the tomb, we all get what we deserve.

Relieved by the thought that for him that day seemed far away, Avis Lancaster let out a sigh. Closing his novel as he rubbed away at his weary eyes. Glancing up he then took stock of the bus on which he travelled, his eyes passing over the other four passengers before lowering themselves back to his book. The last snowfall. Avis smirked as he studied the black book's cover, an idle hand running itself along it as it traced the gold and red flower petals sewn into it's felt. He then let his mind wonder, continuing his caress as he recalled the story of a spy, a guard and a president's daughter.

Raising a hand as to cover his mouth, he yawned, looking out the window to his right as his mind snapped back to reality. Again his hand reached up, this time making for his left ear. Closing his eyes he scratched it, suppressing a slight groan of pleasure before reopening them. Looking through the glass, the eighteen year old watched as two children, each not much younger than himself, chased one another in the night. Their mother yelling excitedly at them as she looked on. Amused, Avis looked back, straining his neck as a smile lined his face. He mouthed the word "cute".

Before long Lancaster once again found himself lost in a trance, his mind lost from reality as he re-immersed himself in his book. His face shifting from looks of content, intrigue and disgust as he scanned the aged pages of the novel. Absorbing not only the knowledge, but also the emotions each of the characters possessed as he did. Pausing, he took a moment to reflect on his life and how the book could connect. The absence of his parents, the constant feeling of neglect, it all granted him a greater feeling of appreciation. Not only for life, but also for the finer things, like his books.

A baritoned voice then shot through the bus, resounding across it's hull in echoes as it cried out the address of it's next stop. Taken aback by it's suddenness, Avis raised his head with superfluous haste. Partly frightened by the realization that it was his stop, he slammed his elbow against the horizontal yellow strip just under his window. The bus came to a stop.

Jumping up, he grabbed his bag and continued to shove his book into it. Tossing the black velvet knapsack over one shoulder as he made his way to the vehicles front. Apologetically, he nodded at the bus driver, assuming that the elderly woman would be annoyed by his late request to stop. She simply smiled. Stepping off of the bus, Avis reached into his pocket with his left hand. Gripping his bag's strap with the other, he revealed and unlocked a chrome iPhone and quickly dialed in a number. Leaving the intersection he made his way down the drive, listening to the rings his phone made as it attempted the call.

The line connected. "Ello?"

"Hey Elise, It's me. Whuzz'up?" Content with the fact that she had picked up, he smiled, looking at his all white high top sneakers as he listened to her voice.

"Shit. Avis? Aren't you supposed to be at work?" It was more of a statement than a question, as her voice seemed to hold a hint of annoyance. Gingerly Avis pulled up the collars of his white leather jacket, eyes still upon his feet as he crossed an adjacent side road.

"Naw, switched to the early shift." His voice lowered, subconsciously, he switched to an injured tone."I can call back if I'm interrupting."

Her response was instant. "Sorry, so what did you want Lancaster?"

"Nothing." He lied. "Just wanted to say hi." At this point Avis had looked up and was peering down the street, his green eyes squinting periodically as oncoming headlights rushed by. Shivering as a sudden cold breeze kissed at the black waved, and lowly cut hair upon his head, he then lowered his gaze.

"Where are you?" Ignoring her, he made a left onto Willows lane and a smug smile lined his face. "Ello? Avis, you still there?" He hung up, making a second and sharp left as he leapt up some small steps prior to knocking upon a door. Without hesitation he shoved his phone into his jeans pocket, wincing as he struggled to squeeze his hand into his black skinnies. Ignoring the stinging sensation as he recalled it, he then ran the hand over his hair and nervously adjusted the black tee shirt he wore beneath his jacket. The door cracked.

"Je suis rentré." Unprepared for her lunging hug, he staggered, nearly falling off of the ledge before embracing her in return. He smiled as he noticed the scent of lavender upon her. However, the moment was ended when Elise muttered something incoherent.

"What?" Looking down, Avis held them apart. His eyes finding her dark brown irises as he whispered with curiosity.

"Why didn't you tell me you were coming?" Though it seemed innocent enough, something about her inquiry worried him. While he had thought nothing of it at first, he then glanced at the bed robe over her naked frame, and suddenly feared she was not alone. Rather than ask, he simply shot her a look, one mixed of confusion and pain. Understanding she simply hugged him, kissing his cheek apologetically before she grabbed his hand. She then led him inside.

Once inside, Elise giggled playfully. Blowing a kiss at Avis as she grabbed up two nearby scrunchies and put her long auburn hair into pigtails. Shaking his head with a smile, he shut the door, following her up to her bedroom as he checked his watch. A quarter to three in the am. The somnolent teen let out a yawn.

Clair and Zora took a moment to wave at the bus, and as it went around the corner, simultaneously collapsed onto the ground in a fit of giggles. Clair's mother declared them silly and went back into the house, and once the fit of laughter had subsided, the two of them lay panting, staring into the night sky. Theirs had been an especially rigorous game of grab and tag, and to make it more interesting, Zora had insisted that they needed to back and forth rhymes or else lose possession. Apparently, yelling, running, tagging, and trying hard not to fall over laughing at the silly rhymes left one quite out-of-breath. Yes, it was childish. Someone of 16 years wasn't expected to play games of tag late into the night, but such was the way that Zora was, and her youthful fun was infectious.

Clair was one of those tall, glasses-wearing blondes who stuck out at school like a sore thumb. She didn't fit into the "popular girls" clique (she was too nerdy for that), but attempting to go the other way and mesh with the nerds didn't work so well, either (she was too pretty for that). And so it was that here she was, lying in the grass with Zora on a beautiful night.

Zora herself didn't really fit in anywhere, so hers was a web of unpopular friends. She was too stupid for the nerds, too immature for the popular girls, she broke too easily for sports; so her friends had to be just as alone as she was. Which was to say not very along at all. If Zora had done any good, it was that she'd brought together all those who didn't really fit together, through her web. Those who maybe only would have been able to find one or two friends in all the dreary days of high school were connected through Zora to all those others just like themselves.

Of course, that was just a happy happenstance. Zora hadn't set out to create a "misfits anonymous", she was just willing to take anything she could get. Even Clair, who snorted when she laughed, was snobbish about her good grades, and when Zora wasn't around tried to get into the popular clique by spreading lies about her. But Clair had something Zora needed, and was willing to give it. Those hard years before she'd been old enough to legally work, Zora'd called on her maybe more than was socially acceptable. And Clair hadn't complained, and her mother had been gracious, and in the end it had worked out. And maybe she would be useful again. Hard times didn't have a habit of staying away for long, in Zora's experience.

A beam of light swept over the girls' prone forms as the sound of tires on asphalt changed to the sound of tires on concrete. Clair sat up, brushing herself off, and stood to greet her father. Zora just watched, smiling slightly, and waved when he acknowledged her.

"Daddy, I know it's late, but we've been waiting all day for you to throw the ball with us!" Which was true. Grab and tag had only been to bide their time until the football could come out and they could engage in a little friendly competition over a pigskin. Not that with three people they could have a real game, but if Clair's father threw the ball in the general vicinity of both of them, they could at least fight over who could catch and throw it back. Clair generally won (being taller and more healthy did that), but it was a tradition of sorts that they'd made when Zora's visits were more often.

"Ah, yes, where is that old pigskin, hmmm?" Mr. Stevenson stretched and placed his bag on top of his car, closing the door and watching his daughter scurry away to grab it from the porch. His job always kept him late; Clair had gotten her nerdiness from him, and his job working in the tech department at a manufacturer had flexible hours and good pay, but the drive was long. And without a key, his schedule could only really flex in one direction, and over time he'd made a habit of arriving and staying later and later until here he was, only getting home at 8 o'clock, leaving his daughter and her friend impatiently waiting out in the night for his arrival.

Mr. Stevenson hadn't always been a nerd, though. Well, at least not completely. He was one of those fathers who had stories about back in the day when he was on the college football team. Well, except the college didn't really have a team (the president had something against full-contact sports, so there was no football or hockey team to join), so really he'd just been on one of many intramural teams, but he'd been good, and never really let his skills get out of practice. He still found time on the weekends to, when others might be going out drinking or bowling, get down to the old field and have some fun in a scrimmage. He was surprisingly good for his ripe old age of fifty-two.

Try as he might, though, he'd never mastered the art of getting the ball to Zora 50% of the time. The little girl could jump well, and sometimes managed to snap the ball right out of Clair's hands, but it didn't amount to much when she was a whole foot shorter, with shorter arms to match. Still, though, it was good practice threading the ball to a stature-challenged receiver, so more-often-than-not that was his aim.

Tonight was a good night. The weather was fine, the pigskin obeyed, there was plenty of fun being had. Such a shame then that after one particularly high-thrown ball, which Zora had managed, with just the tips of her fingers, to knock out of Clair's reach, that Zora came down wrong. There was no snapping sound, and for a moment it was as if nothing extraordinary had happened; Mr. Stevenson laughed at the play, Clair turned around to fetch the ball, and Zora tried to get up off the ground. Only, when she'd done so, she let out a little squeek and fell right back down, quickly pulling her left leg up to hug it to her chest.

For some people, sprains happen as often as a blue moon. For others, a month without one is odd. Zora was one of those unlucky individuals who erred toward the latter side of the spectrum. Earlier this year it had been a wrist, and she'd hurt her hip, and this same ankle had given her trouble. The radiologists down at the local hospital knew her well. They weren't too surprised when Mrs. Stevenson drove up and brought in Zora to see them yet again.

Row, row, row your boat
Gently down the stream...

September was singing as she walked. Her accent, her quiet, breathy voice, and the way her eyes flickered from person to person, bush to bush, house to house, made her look very eerie indeed. As the girl sang, she thought of today's haul.

Mr. White was having an affair, wasn't he? September had been quite suspicious of him for a few weeks and had crept around his classroom, 3B, and managed to overhear a conversation. The details of that conversation? Let's just say that she knew Mrs. White wasn't into any of that.

Well, see, September didn't actually want to ruin any marriages. She stuck her tongue out past her lips to prevent an uneasy grin from forming. She liked to gather intel, to know things, to write about things, but she had shared very, very few pieces of information.

In her left hand, deep inside her black shorts, was her trusty little notebook. In it contained so much gossip she often thought about burning the little devil so nobody would find it and freak out. She'd never go through with that, of course, but it was interesting to think about all that intel turning into a little pile 'o ash. In her right hand was two, wait, three, erasable gel pens. She fiddled with both items and withdrew her tongue.

The last time she encountered an issue like this was when Sander cheated on his girlfriend, Veronica. Made out with Betty under that tree that he and Veronica always hung out at. September was writing in a tree next to them and was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of eating face. Hurk. It was never a good sound to listen to.

September had hoped it was a one-time thing for Sander, but as the weeks went by and Betty and Sander took it… Further, September knew she had to tell Veronica and also listen to a lot of heavy metal to make sure she didn’t remember anything that happened that day.

But Sander, Betty, and Veronica were only juniors in high school. Mr. and Mrs. White were adults, with steady jobs, one kid, and their lives were pretty much all figured out. Was it really her place to ruin their marriage?

Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily
Life is but a dreeeeeaaam…

September drew out that last word, keeping her teeth together and feeling the vibrations of her voice on her teeth. The urge to grin in discomfort was there again and she wanted to deter it.

The girl didn’t realize how fast she was walking until she nearly tripped on a cat. Holy mother- Unlike some people, September tended to walk faster, up to a jog, when her mind was someplace else.

She avoided the cat rather easily, though it had startled her. She couldn’t remember any family that had a cat. Is he new?

The cat was an orange tabby, and he was currently racing towards a large building to September’s left. It was the hospital where… Well, it was just a hospital, really.

Obviously, September decided to follow that cat.

I'm heading to work. Sorry I wasn't up when you left. Be good and be safe. ILY

Sahara squinted as her phone illuminated the early morning darkness around her with its bright, artificial light, displaying the short text just above the lock screen. Her eyes lingered on the last three letters. For a moment she seemed to press her lips together, staring at the small screen with an intensity usually reserved for things a great deal more interesting than text messages from one's mother. Then, as soon as the moment came, it passed, and she powered her phone off. Blinking as her vision readjusted to the hazy lights pouring out of the window above her, she slipped the phone into one pocket of her khaki cargo pants.

The sound of the hospital's automatic doors sliding open drew her attention. A man who looked to be in his seventies walked out, pulling his jacket more tightly around him when the nip of the night air started in on him. Sahara subconsciously tugged at the baggy sleeves of her own grey jacket. She watched him until she realized that he was turning to walk her direction. Quickly, she averted her eyes to the ground, fully expecting him to walk right past her. Instead, he settled down on the other side of the bench. Though there was more than enough room for the two of them, she still felt it necessary to pick up her small black canvas bag from between them and place it delicately in her lap.

The two sat in silence for a time. It was the old man who finally broke the silence. "You here to visit a relative or somethin'?" He asked. Sahara stared at her hands, folded delicately atop her bag.

"No, sir," she replied, uncomfortable with such a sudden unexpected conversation with a stranger. She was going to leave it at that, but decided that getting over her nerves had to start somewhere. Why not here, with this man in front of whom it didn't matter if she embarrassed herself or not, as she'd never seen him before and probably never would again. "I-I'm visiting a... friend."

It wasn't much, but it was something. Still, Sahara didn't know if she could handle more. What if he asked what was wrong with her friend? She knew what had happened, but wasn't sure about the specifics of his injuries. And Dallas wasn't exactly her friend, to begin with. Should she clarify? What if he questioned the appropriateness of a young woman visiting a young man in the hospital without a chaperone? No, that was silly, people didn't think like that here, and he'd probably have family with him, in the first place, oh, why did she put herself in situations like this-

"Oh, that's nice. If I were you I'd get in there soon, before it gets too crowded." he advised, leaning back and closing his eyes. "I hate crowds. And hospitals."

Oh. Feeling altogether embarrassed at having let her worries run wild, again, Sahara slid one hand under her canvas bag and gripped the handholds firmly with the other. She stood, eyes still glued downwards.

"Y-Yes sir. Thank you. Have a good day." Having said more at once to this man than she had to anyone in weeks, she hurried towards the hospital doors. They slid open and released from inside a pleasant gust of warm air. She entered into a larger room that she imagined was not unlike most hospital waiting rooms. To either side of her were patient waiting areas, with long rows of chairs connected by their arms rests. Some distance from the doors was the front desk, where one tired looking nurse spoke in hushed tones with an angry woman, another sifted through papers while the man in front of her impatiently tapped his foot, and a third seemed preoccupied with something on the screen of her computer, just below the counter itself.

There had clearly been several attempts to bring light and color into this room. Bright, abstract paintings hung on several walls. Underneath the rows of chairs were multicolored rugs that had probably been quite pretty when they were new but had since faded with age. Potted plants sat scattered at various places around the room. But no decorations could rid the place of the smell of antiseptic, nor could it make the sterility of the white walls and floors any less intimidating. Sahara wanted to turn on her heel and leave right then, but she instead forced herself to walk up to the nurse who was not already busy dealing with somebody else. The rather frazzled looking young woman glanced up expectantly. Sahara swallowed, opened her mouth, and then closed it again.

"Um, yes ma'am? How can I help you?" The nurse said after several awkward seconds of silence.

"Er, yes!" Sahara said, continuing before she could lose her courage, "In what room is Dallas Robertson staying?"

The nurse typed a few words into her computer, answered the question, and gave her directions. "Thank you," Sahara managed before walking off towards the hallway where the nurse said the elevator would be. Were the circumstances different, she might have been proud of herself for successfully navigating two completely normal interactions within the span of just a few minutes. For now, though, she was too busy dealing with her worry.

One elevator ride and several hallways later, she was approaching the room she'd been told Dallas was in. The door was a rather plain brown, like all the others in the hallway. Yet this one instilled in her a certain sense of foreboding. She took one hand from the bottom of her bag and reached towards the door's handle. She hovered there in uncertainty for a few moments before finally working up the courage to open it.

Inside was a room much plainer than she'd been expecting. Harsh music that she was unfamiliar with played on a television set in the corner. There were quite a few chairs lining the walls, but only one was occupied. The seated woman was a beautiful blonde, perhaps in her forties. Dallas's mother most likely. For a moment, Sahara felt an unexpected twinge of pity that the only person visiting him besides herself was his mother. Then the pity was replaced with horror as she realized that she was likely infringing on a very personal moment for the other woman. What if what she'd heard about visitors now being allowed was wrong?

She resisted the urge to leave, as she'd clearly already been seen. She could have just made up some excuse about getting rooms mixed up, but that would have made this whole trip for nothing. So, after several moments of deliberation, she made the decision her Amma would be proud of and looked at Dallas's mother. "H-hello," she started, biting her lip nervously before continuing, "D-Dallas and I were classmates in school. I've come too..." Why did she come? Out of worry? That was certainly a factor. To express her well wishes? That was true, too. But it dawned on her that a part of her motivation, too much for her comfort, was selfish in motivation. She wanted to prove something to herself. She found the thought troubling, and realized that the older woman was still waiting for her to finish.

"Give you these," she finished quietly, pulling from her canvas bag a plate of homemade cookies, saran wrapped and tied off with a blue ribbon. She'd actually made them for his whole family and him, had he been awake, but since she was the only one there, it seemed that they were just for her. That made presenting them feel a hundred times more awkward, and as she held them out, she realized that this was likely one of those ideas that seemed a lot better in her head than they'd actually be in reality. "This must be very hard for you, and I wanted to do something to raise your spirits. I... I can go now, if you'd like. I understand if you wish to be alone."

Laying across Elise's bed, Avis ran his hand along her cheek. Glancing down at her as she snuggled against his frame, his heavy leather jacket now replacing the red robe she had worn over her bare skin. Half leaning against her bedroom wall, he eyed her wall mounted flat screen with departed interest. Flicking from channel to channel as he listened to her oral physics report. After another minute Elise began running her hand up and down his stomach, tracing his abs through his shirt as she concluded her report.

"So, how was it?" Having only listened to the main points and notations, his answer was a type of half truth.

"Good. I'd revise that bit about Gravity being the ultimate joker though." Again he shot her a glance, smirking as he waited for her response.

"Why? Gravity's unidirectional - attractive only. There is no equal and opposite antigravity." Playfully, she pounded on his chest. She then rolled over exaggeratedly, pressing her bare chest against his stomach as she looked up into his eyes.

He simply raised his left brow, causing the twenty year old girl to absent-mindedly giggle as he issued his response.

"Because. I mean, while you can’t shield yourself off from gravity, it does drop off in intensity via the inverse square law relationship. Even though it dominates the entire universe; Holding stars, solar systems, galaxies, and even clusters of galaxies together. All we have to do to escape it is go into orbit and experience Zero-G.

Same goes for Entropy. Technically, local pockets of entropy can be reversed. At the expense of increasing entropy outside of that local pocket. Like, our lives and activities are one constant battle to try and reverse local entropy, but all that is at the expense of increasing entropy in the the cosmos. Cause no matter what, we're always expending our store of energy.

I'd say time's the ultimate joker. It’s unidirectional everywhere for everyone. Sure, rate-of-change can slow down for someone in high and constant acceleration and/or experiencing, or in the presence of, a very high gravitational environment. But the slowing down of time, is only from the perspective of someone looking on. The person in question would still note their own personal time ticking away at the usual rate. So once you consider Steven Hawkings' Chronology Protection Conjecture, you can only conclude that time can't be stopped or reversed. The universe doesn't allow it."

Elise sighed, loosing an "whatever" as she crawled up as to kiss his lips. He met her half way. For a while, that was how they remained, locked in passionate embrace. Each pulling the other closer as they lost themselves in a moment of bliss. With a final tug Avis then moved away, sitting up before gently setting her aside as to hop off of the bed. A worried look lined her face.

"T'inquiète. I'm going for a drink." Noting her expression, he turned back as to kiss her forehead reassuringly before looking to her face. With a smile she nodded her head. Satisfied, Avis exited the room and made his way downstairs to the kitchen. As he opened the fridge, he glanced at his watch. A bit annoyed as its illuminative LCD screen began to flash and the watch ringingly beeped.

A reminder that he was to go visit Dallas.

For an instant, he was filled with both sadness and rage. He had known Dallas for years now, and despite having constantly butted heads with the man, Avis had come to cherish him as a true friend. Ergo, as he thought about what had happened to him, he couldn't help but feel a bit outraged. After a few seconds, the feeling passed.

Bending forward awkwardly, the teenager went on to scan the contents of the fridge, grunting in protest as his eyes moved from vegetable juices and sodas to water. Finally, after another glance, he smirked and grabbed up both a carton of milk and a lone vodka forty. He held the latter up as to look at it before glancing at the steps. The words "she would" leaving his lips as he shook his head idly. Opening the carton, he took a sip, shaking it in his hand as he realized it was less then half full. Placing it back on the counter, Avis then quickly poured a twelfth of the forty into the carton and returned the bottle to the fridge.

He had only gotten half way towards the steps when Elise, in her usual impatience, called down.

"Hey Avis!!!? Didn't you say you were going to visit Dallas today!? Can I come!?" He couldn't help smirking at her words. Albeit being shocked by her request, Avis let himself chuckle after her for a moment. Finding it ironic that the judgemental Elise Taylor would want to visit 'that punk'.

-=\ Ω /=-

Seated upon an uncomfortably rigid hospital bench, Lancaster swore inwardly. His emerald eyes slits as he stared daggers at the door leading out into a hallway - or rather, the two employees standing behind it. Resenting the duo who blockaded his attempt to see Dallas as he idly fidgeted with his phone. Relentlessly turning it in his hand. All the while contemplating a newly futile plan of approach. He would have continued to sit there in silence as he had for half an hour, had it not been for the sudden opening of the waiting room's door.

When the duo emerged from behind them, Avis wasted no time in springing to his feet. His jacket once again hugging his frame. Moving quickly, Avis arrived just as a nurse had been passing Dallas' room. Momentarily surprised by the dark skinned teen, who in his haste had nearly collided with her, the elderly brunette let out a yelp. Embarrassed, the shorter woman quickly scurried away. Hiding her face from an indifferent Avis as she went on her way. As he entered the room and caught his first glimpse of an unconscious Dallas, he felt his heart sink. Ignoring the unfamiliar girl to her left, the teen's face then unknowingly expressed his concerned disposition as he greeted the mother of his friend.

"Mrs. Robertson..." Despite his desire to comfort her, trepidation then filled him. Thus he couldn't find the words. Unable to properly relay the way he inwardly felt, he instead settled for the three words he knew she had been frequently asked. "How is he?" She didn't speak, opting to instead gesture towards the bed, but her grim expression told all. There was no change. Lovingly, he briefly placed upon her shoulder an hand, which she touched.

Pseudo-lethargically, he then moved away, and, after taking a seat within one of the remaining chairs, his gazed focused about his friend. Fear stricken, Avis then remembered the first time he had ever sat next to someone restricted to a hospital.

Gingerly, a young, afro bearing child of barely eight repeatedly poked at an older child's leg. The child in question, a Caucasian female roughly fifteen, giggled and playfully swatted away his finger. Her face full of joy despite the pain she must have felt as a result of her broken hip, arm and leg. Megan, Avis' semi-frequent baby sitter while his parents were out together, had been struck by a car. Though more vulgarly, Avis now said the same thing to Dallas he had to her back then.

"You look like shit."

It was only after these words, and a pinch between the eyes, that Lancaster endeavored to acknowledge the Olive skinned teenager. Whom Mrs. Robertson had just finished addressing when he had first came in. Without rising from his chair, nor averting from Dallas his gaze, Avis issued a sort of informal greeting. Although he was sincere, his manner would've portrayed him as being stark.

"Avis, by the way. You a friend of Dee's?"