"Great," Father Seraphim sighed as he spoke, putting the car in Drive.  He began driving the car down the road.  The car ride was silent and no one spoke.  Father Seraphim never listened to music in the car unless it was Slavonic chant.  However, he did not want to scare Sylvia.  She may not have an ear for such types of music.  

Aleksandr relaxed his shoulders in the car, trying to make himself comfortable.  He stared out of the window. The windshield wipers on the car were swishing back and forth as the rain poured harder.  They made a slight squeak as they came up, and it was bothering him.

“Sylv, is it always this rainy?” Father Seraphim asked, trying to lighten the mood. His Russian accent was picking up.

Aleksandr glanced at his father as he spoke and then looked out of the window, again.  He kind of hoped it was.  It barely rained back in their old town.  It was rather dry there.  He did not particularly miss it one bit.  He didn’t have any friends—or, the ones he tried to make didn’t last very long.  He winced thinking about it, feeling a bit nauseous.  He leaned his head against the headrest of the car chair and grabbed at his stomach, frowning. He tried to think of Sylvia and him in the hospital—he was actually enjoying himself, [i]for once[/i]. He closed his eyes.  Of course, he fucked that up, too. Probably for good reason… He let out a sigh, shifting his mind to a different subject like how to skip lunch.  His father was probably going to be stereotypically hospitable and make lunch for all three of them when they got home.  He was [i]not[/i] looking forward to it, anymore. [@Arista]