14.

"You *#&%!@ you're the %$^&*# from work today."

"Indeed my dear. I'm your worst nightmare, an abusive customer who doesn't actually want to buy anything."

"Terrifying. What are you doing here? Where's Simon?"

"You know as well as I do you impetuous self-absorbed wench. He went that way."

Canada gave a big huff, lent slightly forward with arms open at an acute angle and flared wrists, pausing for dramatic effect. Then she stormed away, stopped mid step suddenly realizing that she hadn't actually done anything useful yet. Simon was still flying(!?) off into the dark night, Absalom was in need of hair and skin grafts, while Daly seemed to be struggling to find his freshly spilt marbles.

She turned to her agitator again, "Now you list--," he smashed her over the head with his flashy walking stick.

7.

Simon sat up and scratched his head, something wasn't right. It wasn't left either, it was more like directly in line with his gaze, 12 o'clock as they say.

"Hello, Simon."

"Good morning?"

"I've been waiting." The Stranger was bald, or at least his head was shaven clean. He wore what looked to be a black leather trench coat and and an ostentatious pair of purple tinted glasses. A poor man's white version of Morpheus. He looked like a bit of a tosser.

"My dream..."

"You're perfectly awake young man. This is real life."

Simon and reality weren't quite on friendly terms just yet, "But, it didn't make any sense. Just like what's happening now. Who are you and what are you doing in my room!? It's really disturbing. I need to rest, I've got a big trip this evening."

The stranger dropped his cane, which had an impressive red gem as it's head, it clanked on the floor as he reached into his coat. Simon squeezed his sheets, bracing himself .

Out came a bag of gummi Bears, "Lets talk boy."