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tikificTitle: Hardware (Mythklok Interstitial)
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: An appliance purchase.
Warnings: Unicorns.
Notes: This one is fondly dedicated to all my friends who find themselves working in the retail industry over the holiday season. Godspeed, and get out those flaming chainsaws.
Mr. Periwinkle smiled, pleased as punch, and hooked his thumbs under the straps of his orange apron.
A place for everything. And everything in its place.
He regarded the neat rows of lawn mowers, paint brushes, kitchen sinks, ceiling fans, garbage disposals, washer/dryer combos, vacuum cleaners, angle brackets, and tiki torches with a great deal of satisfaction. Not for nothing was Mr. Periwinkle assistant general manager of HomeAbles store number 1138.
He heard the bell tinkle and, like Parlov's store assistant, cringed inwardly. For it signaled one of banes of his existence.
Customers!
He set off to move about the store, striding through his territory. Out of the corner of his eye, here an there, he spotted the other bane of his existence: his clerks, generally scurrying away from him. Shirkers!
“Mr. Periwinkle?”
He turned in surprise. A couple of no good clerks, asking for him? It was that terrible college girl, Amy or Emmy or something, and that grey-haired lady who used to work in the hardware store before it closed. Before it went belly up, beneath the might of Homeables! He heard she rescued cats. Pathetic!
He hooked his thumbs under his bright green apron and stood his ground. They were probably going to be begging for time off.
“There's a couple that needs your help,” Emmy or Umi or whatever told him.
“Over in power tools,” added the grey-haired one.
“My assistance?” inquired Mr. Periwinkle. Well, he obviously couldn't be everywhere at once – omnipresence was still once power that eluded him.
The lowly clerks nodded obediently.
“Show me,” commanded Mr. Periwinkle. And the threesome made its way to aisle 7C.
It was a young couple. A good prospect, even Mr. Periwinkle had to agree. There was a smallish man in a grey suit, and an even tinier dark-haired woman, who was for some reason wearing dark sunglasses indoors. They were expensively dressed – Mr. Periwinkle was pretty sure the watch he saw on the guy's wrist would have cost him several months salary - although he wasn't entirely certain what it was the woman thought she was wearing. Foreigners maybe? Well, all the better, as they would be so much easier to impress.
“Is 'homeables' even a fucking word?” said the husband, squinting green eyes narrowing to slits.
“C'mon Sariel!” enthused the woman. “This is totally my favorite place! You'll love it.”
“Mmmmm....” he grumbled.
“HI AMMERS!” the little wife suddenly yelled. “Hi, AVALON!”
“Hello, Lady Raziel,” said the annoying college girl. The grey-haired clerk waved.
“Their clerks are cool!” said Raziel. “They've been helping me get tools that match my outfits!”
“Good gods,” the husband muttered.
Lady Raziel? thought Mr. Periwinkle. Definitely some kind of foreigners. Royalty, perhaps? Well, if one had to be foreign, one might as well be aristocracy!
His intervention was clearly needed. “How may I assist you?” he bustled.
“This is my manager, Mr. Periwinkle,” said the college brat.
“Periwinkle, huh?” said Raziel, pushing the sunglasses down her nose and narrowing her dark eyes. “Yeah, I heard about you.”
“Are you two just starting out your home?” inquired Mr. Periwinkle.
“What?” said Lady Raziel. “Naw! Sariel is my idiot brother, not my idiot husband,” she said, pounding him on the shoulder. Sariel glared. His glare was really quite arresting. “We need a CHAINSAW!” she explained.
Sariel? thought Mr. Periwinkle. Raziel? Yes, definitely not from around here. “Then you will perhaps like our Elite Pro SliceMaster 3000 line!” he said, indicating the lovely display just above his head. He spotted a speck of dust on the shelves and hastily polished it off with a sleeve. Obviously, when this sale was concluded, he would need to discuss matters with some sloppy clerk.
Sariel narrowed his eyes further. “Huh. Looks kinda pricey. What about the Chop-o-Matic stuff down here?”
“Well, for a man of your obvious tastes....” began Mr. Periwinkle.
“My tastes?”
“Ewwww, it's suck a yukky color, Sariel! Look!” she said, hefting – with surprising ease for a woman her size – a Chop-o-Matic ChopSmart EconoSaw up towards Sariel. “It makes your skin look sallow!”
“Well, can't have that,” muttered Sariel, rolling his eyes.
“Besides, this shit is made in China. With child labor! Can't hold a flame. Watch!”
“Wait! Ma'am!” cautioned Mr. Periwinkle. “You can't turn that on-” But somehow, the tiny woman had fired up the chainsaw. Mr. Periwinkle turned, astounded, to his clerks. “Who put gas in that chainsaw? Who did it?” he whispered harshly under the sound of the roaring chainsaw.
“Nobody,” giggled the college girl, malice in her evil eyes.
“They're angels,” supplied the old-timer.
“They're.... They're what?” inquired Mr. Periwinkle. “That's ridiculous. Where are the wings? And the harps?”
Mr. Periwinkle whirled around at the sound of the crash. Raziel, the alleged angel, had just Chop-o-Maticked through an entire shelf of the ChainTacular Designer Plus line.
“Sorry. I'll pay for that,” she told Mr. Periwinkle.
“See? It looks like it works OK to me!” said Sariel.
“Yeah, but look what happens when you throw on the flame!” said Raziel.
There was a bright flash. Mr. Periwinkle screamed and dove for cover, throwing his hands up over his balding pate.
“What a piece of shit!” snorted Sariel. Mr. Periwinkle ventured a look up. Raziel now held in her carefully-manicured hands a twisted ruin of metal and plastic. Its chain spun one more time, and then lazily spooled off to the ground.
“Toldja! Now, look at the SliceMaster Deluxe Moderne!” she told him, removing a rather sleek looking fuschia appliance from the rack.
“Its sort of a girlie color,” scoffed Sariel.
“I got one for Wotan.”
“Wotan?”
“He's comfortable in his masculinity.”
“I'M comfortable in my masculinity!”
“OK, then give 'er a whirl!” Lady Raziel urged. Sariel frowned deeply but took up the tool, which also, oddly, fired up.
“Wait, you can't do that in here!” shouted Mr. Periwinkle.
“Why no? Tsk! See, it's easy!” said Raziel.
But suddenly the Deluxe Modern erupted into bright orange and red flames. “Whoa! Cool!” said the obviously impressed Sariel, who turned and whipped through a display of Coolit-II Super Refrigerator/Freezer combos. The chainsaw sliced through the large appliances like a Ginsu knife through slightly warm butter, and one by one, the top of each refrigerator whined and fell, except the very last in the line. Raziel and Sariel glared at it for a moment, and then Raziel puffed out her cheeks and blew.
The top of the last fridge toppled over, producing a pleasing crashing noise.
Sariel had turned off the chainsaw. “This might do. But, do you got it in a better color?” he asked Mr. Periwinkle, who had actually turned a rather brilliant shade of crimson.
Mr. Periwinkle regarded the wreckage that was once a pristine row of top-of-the-line refrigeration units and barked, “WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?”
“We're angels sweetie,” said Lady Raziel. “I mean, duh.”
“Whoever you are, you are not welcome here!” declared Mr. Periwinkle. “Leave at once, before I am forced to call security.”
“Because we're angels?” asked Sariel, slyly.
“As of today, WE DO NOT SELL TO ANGELS,” said Mr. Periwinkle, wagging a stern finger of authority as the miscreants.
“Won't sell to supernaturals, huh?” said Sariel, suddenly grinning. “I think I could sue over that.”
“Uh....” said Mr. Periwinkle.
“Hey, wouldn't you be suing yourself?” asked Lady Raziel.
“Whaddya mean?”
“I thought you owned part of HomeAbles?” she said.
“Oh! Hey, you actually might be right. I'm pretty fucking rich. But I can't remember.” He snapped his fingers. “Hey, maybe Ganesh would know!” He pulled out an odd-looking spiked object and pressed the keypad, and then held it up to his ear, as if it were some kind of telephone. “Hey, Ganesh! Yeah. Do we own stock in HomeAbles? The store? Well, we have a cilvil right issue. A civil rights issue. Anti-supernatural practices. Yeah, we're there right now.”
Out of nowhere, there was a tall, dark man standing in the middle of the aisle. He appeared to be of Indian heritage, and he held the hand of a very small boy.
“Dada!” said the little boy, who ran to Sariel.
“Where the flaming heck did that come from?” gasped Mr. Periwinkle, looking around to see if some of his more evil clerks had perhaps rigged a hidden trap door in aisle 7C.
“No, I did not come from Hell, but rather Mordhaus, though there are some similarities,” said the tall man, who was currently twiddling with an electronic pad. “I am Shri Ganesha, attorney at law. And you are...?” he said, reaching out a hand to Mr. Periwinkle.
Mr. Periwinkle allowed his hand to be grasped, but gawped in a most impolite manner. Shri Ganesha had not dropped his hands from the electronic tablet, but rather, had extended an additional hand, out from somewhere underneath his jacket.
And there was yet another hand there somewhere, donning a pair of officious looking reading glasses.
“Uh,” said Mr. Periwinkle.
“This is Periwinkle,” said Lady Raziel. “And these are Ammers and Avalon,” she said, pointing out two now madly giggling clerks who were standing a bit back.
“Oh, hello ladies,” winked Shri Ganesh, offering a very charming smile, which just produced more giggling. He surveyed the broken wreckage that littered aisle 7C. “Selecting a new flaming chainsaw, Sariel, I see?”
“Yeah. Did you figure out if we have stock here?” asked Sariel, who had lifted up the boy.
“HomeAbles. Is that even a word?” fretted Ganesh.
“Seeeeeee?” Sariel told Raziel. “That's what I said!”
“Why, yes, indeed. And moreover, if we add together holdings by your company, the Eastern Kingdom, as well as the European Consortium, it appears we own a clear majority of the stock!”
“Cool! Well, we're gonna make a few changes here then!” declared Sariel.
“Can I design new uniforms?” clapped Lady Raziel. That green color is dreadful.”
“OK. And, we'll create a new marketing campaign intended to appeal to the supernatural target market!”
“Yes, that is an underserved segment of the economy,” agreed Shri Ganesh. “Supernaturals have high incomes, and are interested in home furnishings.”
Mr. Periwinkle, for not the first time that day, found himself screaming and ducking. The small child Sariel had been holding had sprouted a pair of dark wings, and was now curiously hovering, batlinke, over him.
“GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF ME!” blubbered Mr. Periwinkle.
“Hmpf! You will have to conduct sensitivity training for you sales staff!” said Shri Ganesha, as Ammers cheerfully grabbed the flying child.
“And that name has gotta go,” mused Sariel. “What about, DethHome?”
“And do the sales staff all in black with spikes? That would be so cuuute!” agreed Raziel.
“Well, we can get started on it presently,” said Shri Ganesha, who was waving one of his many hands around in a determined manner. The shelves and major appliances that had been destroyed all vanished in a neat puff of smoke. “But right now, I need to get this one back for his nap. Boonie!” The little child fluttered over to Shri Ganesha.
“Boonie ha da tain zaw?” he asked.
“Well, dear, I do not know of you are yet old enough for your very own chainsaw,” said Ganesh.
“Hey, you know what we could look at now that we're here?” said Sariel. “We could get him his own set of Ginsu knives!”
“Oh, that's a good idea. Would you like that Boonie? Would you like the nice cutting knives?”
“Hatchet!” agreed the child.
“Cool, I could get some for the twins as well,” said Lady Raziel.
“Where is your fine cutlery?” inquired Ganesha of the strangely mute Mr. Periwinkle.
“Aisle 14K,” giggled Avalon helpfully.
“All rightie,” said Shri Ganesha, and with that, he, the child, Sariel and Raziel suddenly disappeared.
Mr. Periwinkle was left sitting on the floor of Aisle 7C, rocking and rocking. “He had arms. ARMS!” he was repeating. “And, wings!”
Avalon squatted down next to him. “Now that we're finished with them, over on aisle 23X, there's a vampire and a unicorn who need help selecting the right lawn mower.”
All that was left of Mr. Periwinkle was the sound of his scream. And then they could hear that no more.
“He didn't even take off his apron,” snorted Ammers.
“You wanna come with me to aisle 23X? The vampire was kinda cute,” said Avalon.
“Do you think the unicorn will let us ride him?” asked Ammers as they set off across the store.
“What kinda lawn mower would a vampire like you think?”
“He'll need something with a headlight. So he can mow at night!”
“Oh, yeah! Great idea!”
And off they went.
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: An appliance purchase.
Warnings: Unicorns.
Notes: This one is fondly dedicated to all my friends who find themselves working in the retail industry over the holiday season. Godspeed, and get out those flaming chainsaws.
Mr. Periwinkle smiled, pleased as punch, and hooked his thumbs under the straps of his orange apron.
A place for everything. And everything in its place.
He regarded the neat rows of lawn mowers, paint brushes, kitchen sinks, ceiling fans, garbage disposals, washer/dryer combos, vacuum cleaners, angle brackets, and tiki torches with a great deal of satisfaction. Not for nothing was Mr. Periwinkle assistant general manager of HomeAbles store number 1138.
He heard the bell tinkle and, like Parlov's store assistant, cringed inwardly. For it signaled one of banes of his existence.
Customers!
He set off to move about the store, striding through his territory. Out of the corner of his eye, here an there, he spotted the other bane of his existence: his clerks, generally scurrying away from him. Shirkers!
“Mr. Periwinkle?”
He turned in surprise. A couple of no good clerks, asking for him? It was that terrible college girl, Amy or Emmy or something, and that grey-haired lady who used to work in the hardware store before it closed. Before it went belly up, beneath the might of Homeables! He heard she rescued cats. Pathetic!
He hooked his thumbs under his bright green apron and stood his ground. They were probably going to be begging for time off.
“There's a couple that needs your help,” Emmy or Umi or whatever told him.
“Over in power tools,” added the grey-haired one.
“My assistance?” inquired Mr. Periwinkle. Well, he obviously couldn't be everywhere at once – omnipresence was still once power that eluded him.
The lowly clerks nodded obediently.
“Show me,” commanded Mr. Periwinkle. And the threesome made its way to aisle 7C.
It was a young couple. A good prospect, even Mr. Periwinkle had to agree. There was a smallish man in a grey suit, and an even tinier dark-haired woman, who was for some reason wearing dark sunglasses indoors. They were expensively dressed – Mr. Periwinkle was pretty sure the watch he saw on the guy's wrist would have cost him several months salary - although he wasn't entirely certain what it was the woman thought she was wearing. Foreigners maybe? Well, all the better, as they would be so much easier to impress.
“Is 'homeables' even a fucking word?” said the husband, squinting green eyes narrowing to slits.
“C'mon Sariel!” enthused the woman. “This is totally my favorite place! You'll love it.”
“Mmmmm....” he grumbled.
“HI AMMERS!” the little wife suddenly yelled. “Hi, AVALON!”
“Hello, Lady Raziel,” said the annoying college girl. The grey-haired clerk waved.
“Their clerks are cool!” said Raziel. “They've been helping me get tools that match my outfits!”
“Good gods,” the husband muttered.
Lady Raziel? thought Mr. Periwinkle. Definitely some kind of foreigners. Royalty, perhaps? Well, if one had to be foreign, one might as well be aristocracy!
His intervention was clearly needed. “How may I assist you?” he bustled.
“This is my manager, Mr. Periwinkle,” said the college brat.
“Periwinkle, huh?” said Raziel, pushing the sunglasses down her nose and narrowing her dark eyes. “Yeah, I heard about you.”
“Are you two just starting out your home?” inquired Mr. Periwinkle.
“What?” said Lady Raziel. “Naw! Sariel is my idiot brother, not my idiot husband,” she said, pounding him on the shoulder. Sariel glared. His glare was really quite arresting. “We need a CHAINSAW!” she explained.
Sariel? thought Mr. Periwinkle. Raziel? Yes, definitely not from around here. “Then you will perhaps like our Elite Pro SliceMaster 3000 line!” he said, indicating the lovely display just above his head. He spotted a speck of dust on the shelves and hastily polished it off with a sleeve. Obviously, when this sale was concluded, he would need to discuss matters with some sloppy clerk.
Sariel narrowed his eyes further. “Huh. Looks kinda pricey. What about the Chop-o-Matic stuff down here?”
“Well, for a man of your obvious tastes....” began Mr. Periwinkle.
“My tastes?”
“Ewwww, it's suck a yukky color, Sariel! Look!” she said, hefting – with surprising ease for a woman her size – a Chop-o-Matic ChopSmart EconoSaw up towards Sariel. “It makes your skin look sallow!”
“Well, can't have that,” muttered Sariel, rolling his eyes.
“Besides, this shit is made in China. With child labor! Can't hold a flame. Watch!”
“Wait! Ma'am!” cautioned Mr. Periwinkle. “You can't turn that on-” But somehow, the tiny woman had fired up the chainsaw. Mr. Periwinkle turned, astounded, to his clerks. “Who put gas in that chainsaw? Who did it?” he whispered harshly under the sound of the roaring chainsaw.
“Nobody,” giggled the college girl, malice in her evil eyes.
“They're angels,” supplied the old-timer.
“They're.... They're what?” inquired Mr. Periwinkle. “That's ridiculous. Where are the wings? And the harps?”
Mr. Periwinkle whirled around at the sound of the crash. Raziel, the alleged angel, had just Chop-o-Maticked through an entire shelf of the ChainTacular Designer Plus line.
“Sorry. I'll pay for that,” she told Mr. Periwinkle.
“See? It looks like it works OK to me!” said Sariel.
“Yeah, but look what happens when you throw on the flame!” said Raziel.
There was a bright flash. Mr. Periwinkle screamed and dove for cover, throwing his hands up over his balding pate.
“What a piece of shit!” snorted Sariel. Mr. Periwinkle ventured a look up. Raziel now held in her carefully-manicured hands a twisted ruin of metal and plastic. Its chain spun one more time, and then lazily spooled off to the ground.
“Toldja! Now, look at the SliceMaster Deluxe Moderne!” she told him, removing a rather sleek looking fuschia appliance from the rack.
“Its sort of a girlie color,” scoffed Sariel.
“I got one for Wotan.”
“Wotan?”
“He's comfortable in his masculinity.”
“I'M comfortable in my masculinity!”
“OK, then give 'er a whirl!” Lady Raziel urged. Sariel frowned deeply but took up the tool, which also, oddly, fired up.
“Wait, you can't do that in here!” shouted Mr. Periwinkle.
“Why no? Tsk! See, it's easy!” said Raziel.
But suddenly the Deluxe Modern erupted into bright orange and red flames. “Whoa! Cool!” said the obviously impressed Sariel, who turned and whipped through a display of Coolit-II Super Refrigerator/Freezer combos. The chainsaw sliced through the large appliances like a Ginsu knife through slightly warm butter, and one by one, the top of each refrigerator whined and fell, except the very last in the line. Raziel and Sariel glared at it for a moment, and then Raziel puffed out her cheeks and blew.
The top of the last fridge toppled over, producing a pleasing crashing noise.
Sariel had turned off the chainsaw. “This might do. But, do you got it in a better color?” he asked Mr. Periwinkle, who had actually turned a rather brilliant shade of crimson.
Mr. Periwinkle regarded the wreckage that was once a pristine row of top-of-the-line refrigeration units and barked, “WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?”
“We're angels sweetie,” said Lady Raziel. “I mean, duh.”
“Whoever you are, you are not welcome here!” declared Mr. Periwinkle. “Leave at once, before I am forced to call security.”
“Because we're angels?” asked Sariel, slyly.
“As of today, WE DO NOT SELL TO ANGELS,” said Mr. Periwinkle, wagging a stern finger of authority as the miscreants.
“Won't sell to supernaturals, huh?” said Sariel, suddenly grinning. “I think I could sue over that.”
“Uh....” said Mr. Periwinkle.
“Hey, wouldn't you be suing yourself?” asked Lady Raziel.
“Whaddya mean?”
“I thought you owned part of HomeAbles?” she said.
“Oh! Hey, you actually might be right. I'm pretty fucking rich. But I can't remember.” He snapped his fingers. “Hey, maybe Ganesh would know!” He pulled out an odd-looking spiked object and pressed the keypad, and then held it up to his ear, as if it were some kind of telephone. “Hey, Ganesh! Yeah. Do we own stock in HomeAbles? The store? Well, we have a cilvil right issue. A civil rights issue. Anti-supernatural practices. Yeah, we're there right now.”
Out of nowhere, there was a tall, dark man standing in the middle of the aisle. He appeared to be of Indian heritage, and he held the hand of a very small boy.
“Dada!” said the little boy, who ran to Sariel.
“Where the flaming heck did that come from?” gasped Mr. Periwinkle, looking around to see if some of his more evil clerks had perhaps rigged a hidden trap door in aisle 7C.
“No, I did not come from Hell, but rather Mordhaus, though there are some similarities,” said the tall man, who was currently twiddling with an electronic pad. “I am Shri Ganesha, attorney at law. And you are...?” he said, reaching out a hand to Mr. Periwinkle.
Mr. Periwinkle allowed his hand to be grasped, but gawped in a most impolite manner. Shri Ganesha had not dropped his hands from the electronic tablet, but rather, had extended an additional hand, out from somewhere underneath his jacket.
And there was yet another hand there somewhere, donning a pair of officious looking reading glasses.
“Uh,” said Mr. Periwinkle.
“This is Periwinkle,” said Lady Raziel. “And these are Ammers and Avalon,” she said, pointing out two now madly giggling clerks who were standing a bit back.
“Oh, hello ladies,” winked Shri Ganesh, offering a very charming smile, which just produced more giggling. He surveyed the broken wreckage that littered aisle 7C. “Selecting a new flaming chainsaw, Sariel, I see?”
“Yeah. Did you figure out if we have stock here?” asked Sariel, who had lifted up the boy.
“HomeAbles. Is that even a word?” fretted Ganesh.
“Seeeeeee?” Sariel told Raziel. “That's what I said!”
“Why, yes, indeed. And moreover, if we add together holdings by your company, the Eastern Kingdom, as well as the European Consortium, it appears we own a clear majority of the stock!”
“Cool! Well, we're gonna make a few changes here then!” declared Sariel.
“Can I design new uniforms?” clapped Lady Raziel. That green color is dreadful.”
“OK. And, we'll create a new marketing campaign intended to appeal to the supernatural target market!”
“Yes, that is an underserved segment of the economy,” agreed Shri Ganesh. “Supernaturals have high incomes, and are interested in home furnishings.”
Mr. Periwinkle, for not the first time that day, found himself screaming and ducking. The small child Sariel had been holding had sprouted a pair of dark wings, and was now curiously hovering, batlinke, over him.
“GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF ME!” blubbered Mr. Periwinkle.
“Hmpf! You will have to conduct sensitivity training for you sales staff!” said Shri Ganesha, as Ammers cheerfully grabbed the flying child.
“And that name has gotta go,” mused Sariel. “What about, DethHome?”
“And do the sales staff all in black with spikes? That would be so cuuute!” agreed Raziel.
“Well, we can get started on it presently,” said Shri Ganesha, who was waving one of his many hands around in a determined manner. The shelves and major appliances that had been destroyed all vanished in a neat puff of smoke. “But right now, I need to get this one back for his nap. Boonie!” The little child fluttered over to Shri Ganesha.
“Boonie ha da tain zaw?” he asked.
“Well, dear, I do not know of you are yet old enough for your very own chainsaw,” said Ganesh.
“Hey, you know what we could look at now that we're here?” said Sariel. “We could get him his own set of Ginsu knives!”
“Oh, that's a good idea. Would you like that Boonie? Would you like the nice cutting knives?”
“Hatchet!” agreed the child.
“Cool, I could get some for the twins as well,” said Lady Raziel.
“Where is your fine cutlery?” inquired Ganesha of the strangely mute Mr. Periwinkle.
“Aisle 14K,” giggled Avalon helpfully.
“All rightie,” said Shri Ganesha, and with that, he, the child, Sariel and Raziel suddenly disappeared.
Mr. Periwinkle was left sitting on the floor of Aisle 7C, rocking and rocking. “He had arms. ARMS!” he was repeating. “And, wings!”
Avalon squatted down next to him. “Now that we're finished with them, over on aisle 23X, there's a vampire and a unicorn who need help selecting the right lawn mower.”
All that was left of Mr. Periwinkle was the sound of his scream. And then they could hear that no more.
“He didn't even take off his apron,” snorted Ammers.
“You wanna come with me to aisle 23X? The vampire was kinda cute,” said Avalon.
“Do you think the unicorn will let us ride him?” asked Ammers as they set off across the store.
“What kinda lawn mower would a vampire like you think?”
“He'll need something with a headlight. So he can mow at night!”
“Oh, yeah! Great idea!”
And off they went.
