During a Storm (Open!)

Slyph winced at his mistake. "My... grandma. Sorry. I-I didn't..."

"Are you close?"

He sniffed for a moment, and hung his head. "Yes." he muttered, with a hint of resentment. "Closer than... well at least..."

Slyph stopped on a tie and stared off into the rain. He didn't mind the wet, only because he was already thoroughly soaked.

"We are close because my grandmother can stand to be in the same room as my mother and father. Unlike my mother. And my father." He chuckled, but it was not filled with mirth or humor. "No. No I shouldn't say that. My parents are both lovely people who want the best for me."

He couldn't tell if he was talking to Nameless or himself. His hollow laugh puttered out, and he turned from Nameless and continued walking. "We should reach the tunnel soon."

Her eyes focus ahead, seeing the faint outline of a tunnel through the mist. She understood what Slyph didn't say, and nodded slowly. She knew of separation, but due to her own strange upbringing she wasn't intimately familiar with it. But despite her unfamiliarity, she knew enough for it to be a topic that wasn't worth lingering on.

"So, besides walking on train tracks and pretending to be birds, what do you usually do?" she asks, as the darkness of the tunnel ahead penetrated the fog, "Hang out with friends, do any after school things, any of that?"

She suspects that he didn't, but the need to ask to avoid possible misunderstandings was still there. Her strides ceased just before the entrance, as a thought crossed her features.

The tunnel was tall, and pretty wide. Held together by large wooden supports, the other end could be seen, but there was a stretch of darkness between here and there. A tall chain link fence with razorwire at the top was open wide. "That's funny..." Slyph commented. "The fence is usually shut this time of year."

"So, besides walking on train tracks and pretending to be birds, what do you usually do?" she asks, as the darkness of the tunnel ahead penetrated the fog, "Hang out with friends, do any after school things, any of that?"

"Other than train tracks and birds?" He clicked his tongue a few times in thought. He spoke as he hopped off a tie and walked towards the side of a tunnel. "Um... I stare at walls and pretend I have friends?" He shrugged as he produced two long and sturdy branches and a piece of rebar.

"I'm joking. I consume media alot. By that I mean I read a lot of old books and watch a lot of old movies. Extracurricularly..." He pursed his lips as he stared down at the piece of rebar. "I joined the sailing club when I was in middle school. After you pass a test you can go down to the harbor and take out one of their little boats whenever you want. So... There's that." He almost offered a branch to Nameless, but reconsidered:

"The tunnel gets a little muddy, so I use these to stay on the rails. You don't look like you need them though..." He returned the piece of rebar to its cranny and jumped on a rail, using the two sticks to stay up as he begun to slowly make his way into the tunnel. "Other than that I like walking. No one else does for some reason. 'Oooh, lets all pile in the car and drive to my neighbor's right across the street!' or they're like: 'Wow! lets drive to that fast food place that's only a mile away!'" He gagged with disgust before his eyes widened slightly, remembering.

"Oh! By the way, we're technically trespassing on federal land, so if anyone asks: we are illiterate." He pointed to the 'NO TRESPASSING SIGN.'

"We can't read. Got it?"

"You are sure no trains pass by here," she says, letting a little trepidation into her voice, looking into the inky blackness. She had been witness to bodies hit by vehicles before, and really did not want to become one of them.

She also did not want to acknowledge the strange feeling she got when Slyph suggested illiteracy. She wasn't horrible at reading and writing...just not fond of the activity. Even now, her handwriting was still atrocious.

Pretending to be illiterate? Should be easy enough.

She also found balancing on the rail easy as well, even as they started walking into the darkness. "Maybe you are seeing the wrong sort of people," she says, "No one I know closely owns a car. Upkeep and petrol...we just use metro or bus. But walking, yeah, walking is good."

As she said this, it got colder.

"You are sure no trains pass by here,"

Slyph let out a long, contempletive sigh as he squinted against the darkness. He shivered against the cold: "I am almost definitely sure that no trains pass through here." He looked back at the slowly receding light of the entrance. "Okay, worse case scenario? Run to the sides. There's a little mud but there is enough space that the train will pass you by."

"Maybe you are seeing the wrong sort of people," she says, "No one I know closely owns a car. Upkeep and petrol...we just use metro or bus. But walking, yeah, walking is good."


"Well..." He sniffed, preparing to be indignant. "I don't... actually see people. I just sort of listen to people around me." He worked the sticks he had back and forth like a cross country skier. "So I guess I don't have friends. But totally by choice!"

He almost slipped, but regained his footing on the rail. "Woo! Exciting!" Slyph grinned, before regaining his train of thought. "Anyway... even if I pretended to like some of those people, I'd still be miserable."

"So...you're usually miserable."

She saw nothing wrong with that statement. She definitely didn't mean it as any sort of insult, though it definitely could have been taken that way. It was just a conclusion vocalised for confirmation.

Her eyes were taking their time to adjust to the darkness, but she could make out silhouettes illuminated by the ends of the tunnel now. Her muscles were tense, fully ready to react to anything and everything.

"And sailing? Why sailing?"

“Yes. Yes I suppose that I am. I don’t really have the right to be. My life isn’t that hard.”

Slyph kept his eyes ahead on the rails and said nothing more on the matter.

Unlike Nameless, the dark seemed to lull him. It was comforting to see only the light ahead of him. The rhythmic motion of the two walking sticks lulled him to a drowsy state. It took him a moment

He blinked. “Why sailing?” He hummed a tune to collect his thoughts. “I just… That’s a good question…” The boy stopped for a moment and rested. “The ocean. I like it. Also the beach. And My favorite stories as a kid (and now) were and are all about pirates.”

They were almost at the end of the tunnel, as the light begun to seep to the ground. "What about you? What do you do when you're not at school? Do you have friends? Like the one at the burger place?"

"I..."

Felt the mechanism of the locker's lock. It was cheap, and the interior workings were easy to feel and manipulate open. She didn't need to do this, she knew, as she took the pink notebook from within. It was just something to do.
...
Bloodstains were always annoying to deal with. And it was her that to deal with it whilst Loyal clean herself off. At least it was only once every two months.
...
She held her breath, hidden in the shadows. She wasn't meant to be here, and if she was caught- No. Don't think about what would happen if she was caught.
...
'-not going to make a peaceful society.'
'Non-violence is a tactic. Peace isn't the way, we need a way to peace'
'There is such a thing a bad publicity, and we need as much good press as we-'
...
"You just have to get used to it," Loyal says, shaking her head, "Both the recoil and the sound."
...
"Whitewoods says hi," she says, dumping a paper bag on her mother lying on the couch.
"You two are angels."


The light from emerging at the other side of the tunnel wakes her, and she realises that she had been quiet for far too long.

"...explore, she says, "I walk around the city streets, hop in and out of various places of varying legality. That kind of stuff. You meet a lot of interesting people."

“But are they your friends?” He posited, before changing subject.

“I do that too, with less human interaction. I’m not that great with strangers.” He said sadly, noting but not bringing up Nameless’ odd silence. “My grandparent’s apartment building should be just over a fence when we get out of the tunnel. The tunnel always seems longer than I think it is...”

The rain had died down somewhat, but a light sprinkle remained ever present. Slyph silently worried he was talking too much, and committed to staying quiet for a little while. He looked back into the tunnel.

And so he stowed the two sticks in a little cove under the cliff and quickly and with practiced fluidity jumped the fence over. Over the fence was a courtyard with a playground in one corner, a apartment building in another, and a grassy hill in the third. The fourth was a driveway.

The building was old, but not derelict. ‘Old Yves Apartments and Arts center’ a sign read. Across the way was an old church that was being refurbished.

‘Coming soon: the Old Yves gallery and Performance space! Donate Now!’

“They rent affordable flats out to artists, and my grandma puts on traditional shadow-puppet shows in her spare time, so…” He explained as they made their way across the courtyard.

As they made it towards the door, a distinct and clear steam whistle echoed from the tunnel. The quiet rumble of wheels on tracks quietly passed by.

Slyph glanced at Nameless and giggled nervously. “Hahaaaa… I… Um…” He quickly pushed the call button next to the door. “Nainai! It’s Slyph, can I come up?” He whispered to Nameless “Have to make sure she isn’t home.” There wasn’t an answer for a time. “Do you think it’s safe?"

"Many of them are," she lies, hopping off the rail, keeping her umbrella as a shield from the elements.

She followed Slyph over the fence with similar grace, whilst holding her umbrella. She looks around the courtyard with a disinterested glance.

"Artist, huh?" she whispers to herself. Whitewoods was into that sort of thing, she recalled, swirling the umbrella around in her grasp. Then she heard the train.

Her eyes narrow at Slyph, and her mouth made a distinctive frown. This did not improve at his embarrassed sidestep.

"I don't know," she said slowly, "It is your grandmother."

Slyph winced at Nameless’ cold, “I…” He begun to mutter. “Sorry… I’ll be right back…” He quickly turned about and ran around a corner of the building. Slyph returned with a small brass key that he used to open the door.

…

He climbed the stairwell in silence to the 3rd floor and used the same key to open the door that said ‘197 B’.

The apartment felt small, and was filled with the smell of herbs and spices and freshly cut paper. To the left was a kitchenette area that led to a larger living space. that was cluttered with old woodcuts and a small shrine in the corner, filled with old incense from which a small curvy line of smoke still snaked from. There were some old furniture about, covered in fluffly blankets to add comfort. A small tv with some archaic gaming system sat in the corner adjacent to the shrine, divided by a bamboo screen with a dragon, tiger, and phoenix motif.

To the immediate left there were two doors and further down the hallway past the living room was where most of the light filtered in from. A bamboo shade turned the grey light from the outdoors into a warm amber glow. At the end of the hall was a wall covered in photos and pictures that were too far away to make out., and to the left of that were two more doors.

“Make yourself at home… I guess…” Slyph spoke softly, as if afraid to wake a baby. “There should be a pot of hot water on the stove for tea if you want any the bathroom is right there.” He pointed to the second door on the left.

“I guess I can give you some of my clothes that I keep here… that is... if you want some dry clothes?” Without waiting for a reply he walked swiftly to the door at the end of the apartment, and closed the door.

After a while, he returned sporting a blue and green flannel and some new jeans with a scarf. In his arms were an assortment of old but comfortable looking clothes.

“You look about my size…” He said, almost apologetically as he put the clothes in the bathroom and returned. “I’ll just… you… you know what you’re doing, nevermind.”

She takes a deep breath. The apartment smelled old above all else, like the smell you got in small museums. What she saw supported this, her careful glance recording and noting all she saw. It was room that belonged to someone with both a long life and a definite certainty in who they were.

A nod was her only response to his words, quiet as they were. Her fingers tingled with the temptation to touch, handle, hold the various curiosities that lay before her of a culture unfamiliar to her. She put them in her pockets to resist doing so.

When he returned with the clothes, she followed him into the bathroom and stayed when he departed. She closed the door behind him and locked it with a definite click. Privacy secured, she undid the jacket sleeves around her waist and placed it on the drying rack. Her shirt and skirt followed after, and there she stood, in her underwear, staring at herself in the mirror.

Clothes stripped away, she looked extremely slight and pale. Her hair was a washed out grey, and her expression wholly unremarkable. The only unique feature about her was her striking red eyes that looked at themselves with little interest. It was an appearance that drew little to no attention to itself, just the way she liked it. Her small yet slender fingers undid the warm tap on the sink, washing her hands and splashing the warm water on her face. Warming her fingers in the water, she then combed them through her hair, brushing the cold out of it. When it was warmed to her satisfaction, she tied it back into her usual ponytail.

She then picked up the clothes that were given and examined them, stroking them with her fingers, feeling the texture of the rough flannel and denim. It wasn't exactly her style, but she did like the scarf. She put the clothes on, noting that they were a little big for her and lay loose in certain areas.

With her wet clothes, she shook them as dry as possible, folding them neatly afterwards, draping them on her arm. Fully changed, she looked once more in the mirror, then left the bathroom.

On the other side of the bathroom door there was the ring of a telephone and the muffled whispers of one side of a conversation. Slyph's light voice rose sharply as Nameless was about to open the door.

"...But I don't want the schedule to change! I'm fine. No. No I'm not mad! Just... Nevermind. What did Dad say?"

His head was hung in his hands, and he was covered in a wool pea coat that seemed a little big for him. He looked very small, sitting on the floor.

"We can't just- That's not what I meant. No, that isn't-" His voice rose and cracked, and there was a quality to it like when one has a stuffy nose.

For a while all was quiet.

"I can't talk right now. I have to go." He glanced at the door to the bathroom and got up, turning around to face the sink and obscure his face as Nameless re-entered.

"Yes. No, duh. I love you too. Bye." He hung up and sniffled, wiping his nose with the back of his hand before washing his hands and face.

"Hey... I forgot I had that scarf. Sorry I didn't notice you were done." He tried very hard to sound absent and disinterested.

Slyph's face was puffy and red, and his eyes watered, but he smiled anyway.

"There's that tea you wanted on the counter. I didn't know if you wanted honey or anything but it's there. If you like milk with your tea then you can't stay here or my grandma will kill you." He grinned at the queer notion.  

"She thinks british style tea will end her: 'first, they put milk in tea! what next? Hemlock? What they teach in history class? Bah! UK no good at China.'" His imitation and accent of an ornery Chinese grandmother hobbled over to his own steaming cup of tea and he sipped it as he leaned against the kitchenette counter. The sip gave him a moment to collect his thoughts.

"I guess after we get appropriately warm there's that burger place, right?"

She heard, but said nothing about it, instead going over to the counter where the tea was located, putting her clothes over the back of a chair. "It sounds as though she and Whitewoods would get along like a house on fire." She pauses, hand lingering over the tea cup. "Ever been in a burning building?"

With that, she picked up the tea and sipped it, reacting to sudden warmth on her tongue. "What kind of tea is this?" she smiled, blowing on the tea to cool it.

She heard, but said nothing about the fact that she had figured out a pretty good idea about Slyph's family situation.

"China's not really good at China either, from what I've heard," she commented idly, rotating her cup. Apart from pop culture, all she knew from China was from 'the three stooges' as Whitewoods liked to call them. Something about a cultural revolution, a Great Leap Forward and a little red book. The little she recalled was rather morose material, to say the least.

First, Slyph shook his head. Then he thought about it, and nodded sagely. "Well... Yup that sounds about right. But I think its really more about having the freedom to mess up your own country. Rather than let someone else, you know? Spoils the fun. "

At the inquiry, he rose his glass mug and examined the steaming amber liquid inside. He put the glass to his nose and sniffed (a motion made comic by his stuffy nose)

"I don't... actually... know... Jasmine, definitely. The citrus is probably from lemongrass or zest. But other than that... It will always be a Gongjiang family secret, I suppose. I've tried to decipher it... but..." He shrugged and sipped the mystery tea. Setting the cup down on the counter he leaned back.

"Who's White Woods?" He squinted in concentration at Nameless. "You... mentioned them before... I think. Back at school."

"Whitewoods," she corrects, "I dont think she's told anyone about her first name. Runs what technically is a restaurant, but her burgers are so good most everyone calls it a burger places. It irks her a little bit. She swears that her other meals are as good, if not better."

She picks up her tea to blow on it a bit more.

"She's also a firm believer in the superiority of tea over other beverages, but she's not exactly concerned with the 'purity' of tea. As such, she experiments."

She drains her tea empty.

"It usually ends as well as you might expect."

“Whitewoods.” Slyph repeated. Never hurt to ensure he knew how to say somebody else’s name:

“Gang-JAngle? Goog-Jan? What a funny nam-” He winced and shook his head of the memory. Draining his tea and quietly washing the two mugs, he chuckled to himself.

“Oh god, my grandmother would try to destroy her. Her very existence is defined by yī pào chá. The… well… its like a ceremony you do with tea that is super complex and long. If she caught us drinking out of her coffee mugs, well, it'd be worse than if she caught us with a joint.” Slyph quickly glanced out the window, as if Nainai could appear out of nowhere at any moment.

“Oh thank god...” He muttered, relieved as he set the mugs on a drying rack swiftly. “We have…” glancing at a clock, he nodded slowly “...Twenty minutes to safely get out of dodge before my grandma gets back. It won’t be the end of the world if she does, but she likes asking questions.” He motioned towards the umbrella next to the door.

"To Whitewoods?"

"To Whitewoods," she nods, putting one hand in her pocket and letting the other reach lazily for the umbrella. It wasn't raining heavily enough to be a real problem, but it was still enough to be somewhat irritating. It was a good umbrella too, not worth just dumping in someone else's house, as amusing as the fallout might be.

It would be easy enough to find the way there, she figured as she exited the apartment and started descending the stairwell. Take the street to the main road, then go along it near to the assortment to shos and stores that cluster around the intersection of bus routes. It wasn't particularly a big place, nor was it in the centre of everything but it was nice enough, especially when you got to know the people who frequent there.

Speaking of which...

"Know that some of the people who go to Whitewoods aren't afraid to show their quirks," she warns as reaches the ground, "Whitewoods has a knack of attracting interesting people. All nice enough, but few that particularly care to fit the expectations of others."

Slyph liked to think he never did anything without reason. Even choosing to walk subtly behind Nameless was an attempt to seem aloof and mildly interested, while masking his slowly growing curiosity. In truth, he could barely hide the slight skip in his step.

While he did pass by Whitewoods' before, he had trouble remembering exactly what it looked like or where it was.

"Its odd... I'd never been to that place before in my life. But its right there." Shaking his head of the oddity, Slyph nodded to Nameless' advice.

"Okay. I'm ready. I think... I don't usually have expectations of people, so I guess I can't lose?" He shrugged, having excepted the day's many eccentricities back at the school.

Pursing his lips, the boy scratched his nose contemplatively. "Actually... uh, one question: any taboos I should worry about? Just... because I don't have expectations of others doesn't mean that they won't have any of me." He sheepishly glanced over his shoulder, ensuring the mythical Nainai wasn't conveniently returning as they were leaving.

No one else appeared to be on the road.

As they walked, she looks Slyph up and down, trying to figure out the best answer to his question.

"Besides the obvious, like don't insult the patrons or their mothers? Don't try to talk about things you don't know about, nor simply ignore what others say. That said, don't necessarily believe what you hear, either."

She taps her feet against the ground in a rhythm as she talked, trying to articulate her thoughts.

"Whitewoods will be extremely cheerful and accommodating, don't expect the others to be so, some are very private people. Try not to laugh at the three stooges that talk about overthrowing the system. Don't order coffee."

Unimpeded by any random encounter, soon they were at the shopping district and close to the place, nestled in between an antique store and a clinic. A sign, proudly displaying 'Whitewoods' in cursive text lay suspended from the extended roof. Two tables, unoccupied, were outside, protected by this extended roof and a plastic barrier. The windows revealed a pretty empty place, with only a dirty blonde woman at the counter talking excitedly to the only customer, another woman with her black hair tied up with a red ribbon quietly nodding.

When they saw her, they waved, a gesture which she returned.

"Just...be genuine," she says to him, before finally folding up the umbrella, and entering the store. It was...comfortable. Not modern and stylish, or regal and expensive, but instead provided the feeling of a warm quilt wrapped around you in front of a fire whilst reading a really good book. The chairs looked soft, the wallpaper calming, and most notably, there was...

"Nameless!" was the exclamation as they entered the restaurant, "I see you've brought a friend! Welcome, welcome, come in, come in...it's miserable out there." With surprising swiftness, the two were ushered to a table. The only other customer smiled and drinks her tea as she watched the scene play out in front of her. When they were seated, the waitress/cook offers a big grin. "Welcome to my humble abode! As you can probably guess, my name is Whitewoods, and I'm glad to have you here!"

Whitewoods then looks at Nameless, as if expecting something. Nameless, for her part, nods at Slyph.

“Okay. Preparing for anarchist nutjobs, extremely nice people, and a distinct lack of coffee.” Slyph nodded and took a deep breath, remembering something about Brave New Worlds and what Fools these Mortals be. He walked into Whitewoods with a reverential air, feeling like he was being initiated into a very exclusive club.

He assumed the blond was Whitewoods, if only because the red-ribboned woman was sitting down, and the it was unlikely that Whitewoods was as reserved. He noted their greeting, but didn’t wave back. They weren’t his friends. This wasn’t his world.

“And be genuine.” He repeated quietly to himself as he entered the restaurant. A tall order, and one he didn’t necessarily know how to achieve.

Subsequently, he was swept up by the perky owner and deposited in his seat. For the most part of the conversation, he maintained a bemused silence, almost taken aback by the energy and sheer… niceness of the woman.

So stunned was he, it took him a good second to realize that he was being addressed (and that his mouth was slightly agape). It wasn’t until Nameless’ look that his petrified state was lifted.

“H-Hi! Um…” He buried his face into the menu he had, and stayed there for a moment. His face slowly crept out of the menu when he realized that Whitewoods didn’t want his order.

“I’m… Hi! I…” A dozen things to say streamed through his head:

‘I’ve never been here before!’ too upfront, he wasn’t like that.
‘I’ve heard so much about you!’ oh god that makes him sound like a tool.

After a moment of silent deliberation, he blurted out:

“I missed school to be here.” He pursed his lips and nodded, glancing at Nameless ‘was that genuine enough?’ He seemed to be pleading.

before deciding that the floor was a much better place to exchange glances with.

“I’m Slyph Gongjiang. That’s my name.”

Whitewoods swiftly reacted with a mock gasp, before saying "Nameless! I can't believe you would be a bad influence on your peers!" She punctuated her scolding by waving a finger at the mostly blank stare of Nameless. "Really, using your feminine wiles to tempt poor innocent boys to vagrancy. I expected better of you."

Nameless gave a tired look. "You know what I want to eat, Whitewoods, the usual."

Whitewoods sighed, "You never order anything different, 'less. A proletariat burger, lemonade, and..." She frowned, and looked outside at the weather. "...are you sure?"

Nameless nodded.

Whitewoods just stared at her, before shaking her head and turning to Slyph.

"And you, Mr, er... Gon-ji..."

"Gongjiang," said a soft voice from across the restaurant. Whitewoods rolled her eyes.

"Thank you, Paradise. Mr Slyph. Do you want to order your food now, or should I just bring drinks?"

Slyph immediately regretted his choice of words. Being the delicate flower that he was, he withered under Whitewoods’ sarcasm, malicious or not, and hid behind his menu to hide his bright blushing cheeks.

He didn’t ‘hate’ those militant conversationalists that make far too much eye contact and try and seem intensely invested in every word you say. He just felt an extreme aversion towards them!

“It’s Gon-” But Whitewoods was corrected before he begun.  Surprised, he glanced around the peppy waitress to try and see who corrected her.

And once again, his name becomes a detriment, and Slyphs’ embarrassment turned to a subtle resentment.  His brow twitched at Whitewoods avoidance of his last name. His quietly smouldering anger preoccupied him,  ignoring the odd exchange regarding Nameless’ order.

He flapped his menu against the table. The impact of which generated a light SNAP. He turned on his brightest, cheesiest smile.

“Well Ms… What was it, Nameless? Wheat-Wads? Right. Of course.” He briefly turned to Nameless, before turning his entire body to face the newly ordained Wheat-Wads.

 “Ms. Wheat-Wads, I’d like some of your finest ‘pommes de terre frites.’ (That’s french fries) And…” He clicked his tongue in his mouth and let his eyes widen to a ludicrous degree. “A… California burger.” He said with finality, decidedly, snapping the menu shut and placing it delicately at the edge of the table.

“Anglo-Saxon names are so funny sounding. I just can’t seem to get how to pronounce them, you know? How do you do it?” Slyph whispered loudly to Nameless, loud enough to be heard across the room.For flavor, he added a subtle lisp, reminiscent of middle-aged mothers who exhibit a horridly passive form of racism. The kind that’s just hurtful enough to damage, but too subtle to be called out. He sat back in his seat, satisfied.

“And some Oolong tea. Thank you!” He squinted, as if trying to remember her name.

“Ms... Wheat-Wads. Sorry, am I pronouncing that right? I wouldn't want to get it wrong.”

"I usually avoid names completely," the girl named Nameless said flatly, automatically gathering the menus. She knew what was going to happen next, and watched with equal parts anticipation and dread.

"Aww....that's alright, Mr Slyph!" Whitewoods cooed, embracing her 'victim' into her not insubstantial bosom, "I'm not that great the pronouncing things either. I don't mind if you don't pronounce Whitewoods correctly. In fact, you can call me however you wish!" Letting him go, she then said, "So a California burger with bits of salty fried potato. And oolong tea." She waved away Nameless holding the menus out to her. "Mr Slyph might want to order desert, so I'll leave them with you whilst I cook, Samantha."

Samantha Nameless froze. Whitewoods eyes were alight with mischief as she strode into her kitchen, hidden from the eyes of the dining area.

Here, there was a period of silence only broken by the rain outside and the clock on the wall. Nameless slowly placed the menus back on the table, and affixed her companion with a stare.

"The worst bit is that she does these things completely without malice. I think."

Slyph's face scrunched in displeasure  at Whitewoods unflappability. To be fair, she was taking the moral high ground. But why did that vex him so...

Before he could reply and say 'That's not the point! people mispronounce my name all the time!', the world disappeared into White's and he was being smothered.

This meant that his response was translated into:

"MMMMMMMM..!" He retorted eloquently, arms flailing.

Being released he gasped for breath. Catching his breath he watched the waitress go.

"I've seen the abyss..." Slyph held a thousand yard stare, traumatized.

Shaking his head of the horror. He sat back and looked about the place, tapping his fingers on the table. His eyes returned to Nameless, and the two locked eyes.

"Sam... Sammy... Samantha." He whispered to himself as he analyzed Nameless. He was in power now, his drama teacher would say. But he didn't want to be. His power was given, not earned.

"Oh, so she is always like this?" He leaned in again, and groaned. "I've never met anyone so... nice and accomodating." While normally these would be admirable traits, His intonation certainly said otherwise.

"Why is that so..." He ruminated a moment before snapping and pointed at Nameless emphatically.

"She isn't playing The Game right!" He almost stood up with excitement at his revelation. "She spent Tokens that weren't hers. At least... She forced you to spend... Tokens I guess..." His eye twitched as he searched the table for the answer to how exactly Whitewoods broke the rules.

He briefly glanced up to Nameless.

"Did I explain The Game?" Slyph Gongjiang asked tentatively. Regrettably, he had a nasty tendency to speak of things he never mentioned before if he got excited.