In which two Gentlemen compete in a Battle to the Deathe for the Hand of thee Faire Ladye Johnson, with Muche Hilarity. A Lovechilde is also Revealed.

Johnson's black braid of hair whips into view, laminated black and plasticky in the colours of the Joe's Diner sign. The blank blocks of a green coat-collar, stylised and featureless, and then

Johnson herself, peering through the little sign pasted on Joe's window, her eyes two shiny grey stickers, head obscuring the blocky letter D. Joe's ZOMBIEGIRLFACEiner. Good advertising.

Johnson turns and looks behind her. The world is white, like the sign, blank and white like a room especially prepared for madness. She's not bothered by this. She was in a forest earlier, then underwater.

Matthew makes his only slightly less lucid way back into NewHome, barely pausing his step as he passes the Joe's Diner sign. He seems to not even notice.

Johnson-in-the-sign spots a familiar looking boater wandering past her nose and she ducks under an i, frowning. Who-? But- tabby. Tabbytabbytabby, he was a tabby, this one's unfamiliar.

Johnson frowns. Matt? MattyMatterMatt? A grubby white cast obscures an n and a e in quick succession as she waves it, and then both hands in view, the letters in Joe's Diner dancing about.

Matthew, as she ducks, has a little glint of- something? catch his eye, and with a bleary blink, he wheels towards the sign, staring intently. Same hat, same blue eyes, same stupid look- it's him.

Matthew just blinks, taking a step back. What. Must be the drink, and dream-Johnson is haunting him. Why Johnson? That doesn't make much sense. He reaches up a claw to tap the sign.

Johnson never thought Matty's look was particularly stupid. But it's stupider today, for some reason. She pops back into view, grinning widely, sharp teeth and a smile like a razorblade. Poor Joe.

Johnson taps back with the grubby white block of her cast, and swings to the fore so that Joe's window is now displaying- Johnson. Terrified by signage, two small prospective customers scurry away.

Johnson waves unrepentantly at the lost customers and grins, shark-difficult. Hello Matty. You look awful.

Matthew jerks his hand back, hovering it tentatively over the sign. And then, as if his brain hasn't quite caught up, he taps Johnson right on the nose; at least, her reflection's.

Johnson's shark-grin becomes suddenly sharper and then her teeth are allofasudden right up against where Matty's finger used to be, close-up grey zombie skin an advertisement for where not to eat.

Matthew sees her lips move, but- before he can focus on reading her lips, it's already gone. He headtilts to the left, and mouths back: What?

Johnson snaps her teeth once and feels the cool, slick plastic of this particular window against her skin as she bumps too close. Odd, how there's nothing in this part of the world, only white.

Matthew's eyes widen as dream-Johnson bites his finger off! Except, wait, no she hasn't. He brings his finger in front of his face to look at it, and satisfied in its condition,

Matthew drops the hand back to his side. And, finally, he decides to make some attempt at communication: “Johnson?”

Johnson is funnily aware of silence- back here, sound is what you make of it, what you give it, and it has colours of its own. Even the white here has a sound, a low hum of diner lights, squeak of plastic.

Johnson blinks at A Matthew in the world of the living and un-painted, looking remarkably like a block-shape Comic Sans sticker himself. You're a bit slow today, aren't you. A frown. What's wrong.

Matthew's ready for it, this time; it takes more concentration than he's right now comfortable with, but he gets the jist of it from her lips. A little, he mouths back. Sorry.

Matthew finally mouths the million-dollar question: Why are you in a sign? He's apparently not particularly upset by it.

Johnson frowns again. Don't be sorry. What's wrong. She glances down at herself. Oh. Um. Yeah. Cozen- is now a Joker. She spins, a whirl of laminated black and green, grinning sharp. Tadaaa!

Matthew missed everything after yeah, but he's pretty certain a Joker has its hand in it, anyway. He shakes his head; he's not about to tell a sign that he's slightly drunk. Need help?

Johnson can tell 'slightly drunk' in any case. She was a theatre student and worked at a bar to fund study. She raises a skeptical eyebrow, a black plastic line of sign rising. How? You're a kittymorph.

Matthew, for the first time since his encounter with JohnsonJoesign, grins widely. “Watch,” he actually says, that time, and then leans forward, stretching a hand towards her.

Matthew's hand, though, passes through the sign, and he reaches around inside, looking away with his tongue clenched between teeth.

Johnson's other plastic sign-of-eyebrow shoots up to join the other one at some apex-point on her forehead, but she reaches out anyway with one grubby, wrapped cast. And takes his hand.

Johnson's eyebrows climb into her hairline. What just happened. Why- why is your hand inside. What the hell are you doing, aren't you supposed to- green flash in the blue eyes, brief and quick- oh.

Matthew grins triumphantly as he feels a hand take his - hey, she's got her hands back - and hopes that maybe, just maybe, it's as easy as just- pulling her out. So that's what he tries to do.

Johnson is yanked from the suck of the white world with a sudden spring of- of something, the shivering feeling of green-and-blue running up her arm and then through her undead skin. She peels.

Johnson peels away from the sign like a sticker, leaving Joe's Diner behind her. From behind the glass window, patrons of Joe's pause mid-cheeseburger to stare.

Matthew lets go of her hand, grinning brightly at her. Problem solved! “You okay?” he asks, and now that she can hear his voice, there's a slight- slur. “How'd you even get in there?”

Johnson blinks. “I-” she says, and then waughs as Matthew lets go of her. She shloooooops back into the sign again, slamming back through as fast as she came out.

Johnson thunks her head against the slick plastic, obsuring the red apostrophe and s again. Good try.

Matthew blinks, striding forward and reaching into the sign again, pulling Johnson back out- but only up to her head. 'H-hey!“

Johnson frowns. “What.” She nghs through her teeth with effort and then, easy as paint, schloooooops back out with the feeling of peeling a bandaid off skin.

Matthew is hesitant to let her go, this time, so he just looks at her, kind of awkwardly holding her hand. “Why are you in a sign?” he tries again. It's too late for him to really be shocked.

Johnson looks down. At their hands. At least hers is bandaged up into an awkward cast the size of Pluto. “Um,” she says. “Cozen. Is now a Joker. Alas for me.” Quirk of the eyebrow.

Johnson slides her eyes sideways at the customers inside, who are now watching with rapt appreciation through the slick glass frame. One of them is munching at fries. “Um,” she says again. “Matty. You're.”

Johnson points down with her other hand, awkward in its grubby white bandages. “Muriel might be unhappy,” she says logically.

Matthew nods mournfully. “Probably. But if I let you go, you fly,” he says in a perfectly reasonable tone. “A joker stuck you in the sign?” He raises his own eyebrow.

Matthew is making some attempt at returning to unbefuddlement. “How does that even work?”

Johnson shrugs a shoulder, looking mildly awkward for once. “Try holding onto my elbow,” she says. “More like you're arresting me. Or something.” Twist of the mouth, and then her eyes slide sideways again.

Johnson's eyes are suddenly bright with a familiar gleam of mischief. “Matthew,” she says. “How are you for- soap opera drama?”

Johnson proceeds to fling both arms around the poor boy's neck and hook one leg around his knee in a melodramatic parody of The Provocative Pose. Mouth hovering near his ear,

Johnson curves her throat up and whispers- “Showtime.” And then, quieter, “I'll show him where to put his fries. Watch me like I'm entertainment, will you.”

Talon is not a customer of Joes, at least not at the moment, but he still watches and has done so for the last few seconds since he wandered into the outpost. Now if that ain't a sign.

Talon flops down under a random tree, shooing away a wild newbie and continues to watch. This might be good.

Matthew does as she suggested, sliding - he doesn't want to lose contact - his hand up her arm and to her elbow. “Okay. You're under arrest for being very ridiculous,” he lightly huffs, and then,

Johnson snaps her teeth together, a little too close to his ear for comfort. ”There,“ she hisses. “In the window. There are people. Eating fries at us. Let's give them a little sauce, I say.”

Matthew is very- very surprised at what happens next. His pupils dilate as she- well- tries to mock-seduce him, apparently. Matt sure hopes it's mockingly, at least. “U-uh-” he begins, and

Matthew can do nothing but obey, flinching at the teeth-snap. “Okay. What are we doing?”

Johnson shrugs a shoulder and leans back a bit to bat her lashes at him, grey eyes shining up from under lowered lids. Mischief, mischief, mischief. “Whatever you feel like. Give 'em sauce.”

Johnson would probably be too busy contemplating doing awful things to people with fries to actually try and seduce Matt. Even if she were likely to seduce a married man. Morals, you know. She has 'em.

Matthew, being the faithful married man that he is, really has no idea what to do when she says 'sauce'. So he just tries his best lurid smile; it's so over the top that it couldn't possibly be serious.

Johnson is fine with lurid smiles. She has no idea what she means by sauce. She places a wonky cast to her forehead and swoons back dramatically. “Oh Matt!” she bellows. “But you are married! We can-”

Johnson swings away, exaggeratedly tearful- ”NEVAH be!“

Matthew gets it, now; oh, so they're acting. Well, he can act. Sort of. “But, my love,” he gushes loudly, sliding his hands up to grip one of her casts in both of his, and

Matthew's eyes veritably sparkle. Two options: he's not stranger to acting, himself, or he's being totally serious right now. “Let us cast off the constrains of society, and run away together!”

Johnson swoons further, bending nearly in two. Well, not nearly, her spine's not snapped. “But oh, Matt, my adored- there is-” a terribly dramatic pause- “SOMEONE ELSE!”

Johnson swings back into the circle of his arms to frantically bat her eyes a moment before glancing back at the Diner. “Best way to make someone choke so hard on a fry they need a heimlich?” she hisses.

Matthew's eyes widen and his ears droop - dramatically - and he practically wails: ”Another?! But- but, mi amore, you are the love of my heart!“

Matthew spares a moment to grin widely - okay, so he's not serious.

Johnson's eyes widen at the sight of the dramatically drooping ears. ”SO. ADORABLE.“ she hisses, and then- “BUT MY HEART IS DIVIDED IN TWAIN, MY BELOVED!” One hand to his cheek, trembling exaggeratedly.

Matthew dramatically twirls away, a bit, but one hand doesn't let go. Covering his face with a palm in exaggerated despair: “I thought only I was in your heart, my precious flower- oh,”

Matthew laments, “the sting of betrayal stabs deep!”

Johnson chokes and stuffs a bandaged wrist in her mouth for a moment. She takes a deep breath for seriousness and then bawls, “OH, but the roots of iniquity are SLOW and IMPECUNIOUS, my delicate honeybee!”

Johnson hesitates. “Wait. Impecunious? Do I mean impecunious?” she whispers. “What does impecunious mean?”

Matthew turns back, eyes actually tearing up. To a theatre major, his performance wouldn't be all that gripping, but he can manage that. “I- my love- I just can't deny it any longer,”

Matthew seems to be ignoring her question. “This burning need. This ravenous desire! Oh, kiss me!” he cries, sweeping back towards her with a little twirl, putting his back to the 'audience',

Matthew bends over her, taking her with him. And then- well, he doesn't kiss her. His face just kinda hovers, a hilarious, impudent grin plastered all over it.

Talon cannot contain his grin, splitting his head almost in half. “Wohooo!” he yells his appreciation of the show and accompanies that with applause and whistling.

Johnson is being dripped on by a teary Matthew. Backwards. She chokes, turns a funny shade of grey and tries very, very hard not to laugh. “Ravenous desire?” she whispers. “The hell?”

Johnson WAUGHS upright, almost hitting Matthew in the nose with her forehead, twirling dramatically away. “THERE HE IS!” she yowls, pointing one bandaged cast at Talon. “The OTHER MAN!”

Matthew blinks them away, trying to make the tears drip down his face instead of onto her. “I don't know,” he offers weakly, his own voice barely caging an amused uproar. And then-

Johnson grips Matthew with one cast and looks torn between Talon and Matthew. “OH MY LOVE,” she bellows. “LISTEN TO HIM LAUGH WITH SARCASM AT OUR RAVENOUS DESIRE!”

Matthew has to breath a little to put his serious face back on. “You!” he points towards Talon, chin jutting. “How dare you try to steal mon cherie?!”

Talon points at himself, raising an eyebrow quizzically. Him, the Other Man? Now inclusion of the audience into their piece, this was good. He'd write a glowing review! If he wrote reviews anyhow.

Johnson nods emphatically, eyebrows dancing up and down in an effort to semaphore the gist of JOIN IN, WILL YOU. “TALON, O DEADLY DARK STRANGER, O PASSIONATE SEDUCER OF MY VIRGIN HEART,” she bawls.

Talon picks himself up and dusts off his really nondescript clothes and fixes his hat on his head, clears his throat and declares loudly. “This will not stand! How dare you ensnare my true love-”

Talon goes on ”-into your life of debauchery? I will not have that! Not on my watch! We shall duel!“

Johnson glances at the Diner window. The whole crowd of cheeseburger-scoffing scum are slowly chomping, spellbound by this debacle. The man with the fries has a loose yellow chippy dangling from his lips.

Johnson's face takes on an actual look of alarm. “Um,” she says. “If you can duel while Matt is holding onto me, that would be good. Otherwise I get sucked back in.”

Matthew stands away from Johnson, one of his hands still in hers, and dramatically extends an arm towards Talon. “A duel! Yes!” he looks at Johnson's hand. “But- I cannot bear,”

Officer Arodang steps into the outpost, sees the drama, and runs away.

Matthew wails, “to release my one true love!” He stares at the other man, face hardened. 'Unlike you, sir.”

Talon clarifies. “I challenge you to a duel of who can pull her out of there- I guess?” His demeanor is dropping, it is obvious he has little to no acting experience here. And no instincts either.

Johnson blinks at the person running away and lifts one hand to beckon frantically. Don't leave! I need more awful family members or tragic lovers!

Officer Arodang peers over the Palisade. “Psst. You need to roar angrily more. Get some spittle in there!”

Johnson nods at Arodang. “He's right,” she hisses at Talon. “Angry roaring. And I insist on a proper duel. With. With.” She glances around for inspiration. “With fries.” One hand pointed at the Diner.

Matthew hisses back: “They're all the way over there!”

Talon gets a cigarette from his pack and lights it. “A duel. With fries. Hum.” Oh what the hell. “We shall fence with Joes famous soggy fries! To first blood or broken fry!” he roars.

Johnson frowns. “Well how else am I going to make him choke on his fries until someone has to give him a heimlich?” she says in a furious undertone. “Thasswhole point of this exercise!”

Matthew smirks widely, and with his non-Johnson'd hand, he does a little flourish with the wrist. With a little flash, a fry vanishes from one of the Joe's diners, and appears in his hand.

Matthew brandishes it. Threateningly! “To the death, good sir! To the winner shall go the Lady's hand!”

Johnson HAs triumphantly and swings one grubby, bandaged hand to point at Talon. “My lover is brave and dangerous!” she cries. “Um. My other lover! Dare ye face him in battle, my adored studmuffin?”

Talon GLARES from under his hat through the Diner window towards Joe and beckons him to bring his finest fries. Long and greasy.

Johnson grins as the man with the fries scuttles forward to offer Talon his fries, looking at Matthew and his Joker'd fry with awe and some kind of greedy terror.

Buddleia wanders in for today's freebies, and stops to watch today's show. Ooh, this looks fun.

Talon chooses a fry, a long, greasy and terribly burned-to-a-crisp one and GLARES at the fry-guy again to make him leave the field of battle.

Johnson may have just overused her quota for the word 'fry' and its permutations for the next half an hour. She blinks at Matt's hand and the frenchified potato bit, gleaming greasily there. Jokers.

Matthew can't help that he's so talented and wonderful, really. He just grins, waiting for Talon. “Come at me, then, knave!”

Johnson turns an even duller shade of grey as the grease-eating man cowers in the magnificence of Talon's glare and scuttles back to the outskirts. Safely ensconced behind the glass, he continues to chomp.

Talon brandishes his chip swashbucklingly and goes into an exaggerated fencing pose. “Have at you then. En garde!”

Buddleia absent-mindedly gets out her wallet, then remembers the trains don't take face cards. No knaves. Hmm, maybe there's a church with a nave out there somewhere, and a spare k for gremlins?

Johnson spots a Buddleia- a transmogrified, non-furry Buddleia. Huh. Well. She flings one arm dramatically out at the woman. “LO!” she shrieks. “COME TO ME, MY DARLING! IT IS MY ILLEGITIMATE LOVECHILD!”

Matthew would charge, but he's rooted to the spot, or rather, to Johnson's hand.

Matthew's glad for the change of track. He grins widely for a moment, and then turns to Johnson with a look of mock-horror. “A lovechild?! But, my dearest-!”

Johnson blinks pleadingly at Matthew. “I don't know if it's yours!” she burbles, taking in deep breaths for further blasting lungpower. If she had a bosom, it'd be heaving.

Matthew's eyes widen dramatically. “But- then!” He looks towards Talon, eyes filled with fury! Or not. “It must be yours, foul cur! You shall see your end this day!” And he charges, hoping that Johnson can keep up.

Talon was about to charge, but the lovechild bit gives him pause. “How can this be?” he wails as best he can. “T'is neither his nor mine!”

Buddleia hikes up an eyebrow, wandering over. “I'm pretty sure who my parents are, actually. It was my sister who had she's not yours! said of her.”

Matthew uses the pause to his advantage! He darts in, fry flailing frantically!

Johnson is yanked along by a man-cat wielding a soggy piece of potato. “WAUGH,” she yowlps, and then hesitates, looking comically befuddled. “Have I not had sex with either of you?”

Johnson grabs at Buddleia with one bandaged hand. “NO,” she bellows, back on track from plot specifications. “YOU ARE MY LOVECHILD play along, will you, woman? I BORE YOU FOR NINE LONG MONTHS!”

Talon shakes his head wildly while trying his best to defend against the soggy jokerfry onslaught. Without breaking his fry.

Matthew's then distracted, himself. “I don't know anymore!” he lightly whines to Johnson.

Johnson attempts words. None of them fit as she is dragged along behind a madman flailing a deep-fried starchy consumer item. And then finally- “IMMACULATE CONCEPTION?” she offers, quite hopefully.

Talon ponders and then shrugs towards Matt. “Well, it is the Island.”

Matthew decides to give this a new turn; with a huge grin at Talon, he suddenly whips back and around, clutching at the zombie from behind, and levelling his fry at her neck. “Wait!”

Matthew cries, “One wrong move and she gets it!”

Buddleia grins and nods. “Yes, and I sprang into existance fully-grown, it was a hell of a birth.”

Johnson wapaAUGHs as events turn for the WORSE and an artery-clogging carbohydrate is held to her throat. “OH NO!” she laments. “NO, MY LOVE! DO NOT DO THIS TO BOTH OF US!”

Matthew cries his despair to the heavens: “My broken heart demands nothing else, my love! As much as it pains me, it has come to this!”

Buddleia cowers in terror, but her arm is grabbed by the hostage and she cannot escape! One false move and Joe's food might contaminate everything!

Johnson clutches frantically at the furry hand-paw-things while trying to avoid the oil-and-salt-soaked tuber-touch. “No,” she wails, screwing up her eyes and attempting to work those undead tear ducts.

Talon stops dead in his tracks, dropping his fryarm to his side. “No! You cannot do this!” What to say, what to say? “She can still be so- useful.”

Johnson clutches also at Buddleia's arm. “My dear illegitimate lovechild daughter, Magical Fairy Sprinkles, flee! Flee before it is too late! Before your- your father? Your FATHER! Before he hurts you!”

Johnson adds- “Matty, my adored darling, beeswax turtledove of my best bosom-heave, you are breaking my heart. Release me!” Down come the tears in a flood of slightly grey, sticky salt.

Matthew visibly seizes up, flashing Talon a momentary smirk. “Oh? Useful, you say?”

Buddleia offers, “Break her down for parts? Those are always useful.” She tries to sink down low enough to tickle Matthew's legs.

Johnson may or may not be attempting to season the Tuber of Death.

Matthew then jerks his head over to Buddleia for the first time. “Yes, my child! Go! Go! Before I hurt us all!” Wait, is Buddleia even supposed to be his? Whatever.

Johnson stops a moment to quirk an eyebrow. “I didn't specify which of you was her father,” she mentions, before swooning back against Matthew's shoulder like a woman with her heart severely smashed.

Matthew was going to eat that fry, once all of this was done. He can't anymore. And then, when Buddleia tries to tickle of him, one of his legs twitches, tail thrashing.

Buddleia wails in despair, getting into the spirit of things. “I cannot leave you, for I love you both!” Group hug for all knees within arm's reach, commencing in three, two, one-

Johnson waughs as her knees are suddenly grabbed by a shortened Magical Fairy Sprinkles and pulled into Matthew's. She windmills, trying not to topple onto her face.

Matthew's eyes narrow dangerously at Talon. “Very well, sir-” he grates, trying to ignore Budd, balancing both Johnson and himself. “You leave me no choice.”

Johnson is still busy windmilling, both arms flailing on both sides of Matthew so together, with Budd clutching their knees, they look like a sculpture of Helicopter Beast With Three Backs and a Smile.

Matthew suddenly grabs for Johnson's other hand with his free one, dropping the dry to the ground. He brings it up to eye-level, and begins fiddling with the bandages, and before Johnson can really object.

Talon huhs. “Au contraire!” He plays the french card. “I'm giving you every choice here!” or maybe not?

Talon gasps and stares.

Matthew manages to yank the hand off, despite Johnson's windmilling. He holds the appendage up proudly, with a big grin. “But to take her hand in marriage!!”

Johnson blinks as she is taken up in favour of the little potato creature. “What are you d-”

Talon scowls. “I OBJECT! On the grounds that I can see no reason why I should not do so!”

Buddleia helpfully tries to pull Johnson free, now that Matthew is holding onto a detached part of her. Or maybe that won't work, if she's sitting in the way.

Talon worries just a little bit about the repeated de-handing of Johnson.

Johnson WAUGHS in outrage and stumbles back, handless. A trip and a tumble out Buddleia's grasp and then shlooooooooop, she's gone. Joe's Diner becomes Joe's FURIOUSZOMBIEGIRLiner again.

Rookie KFish yells, “HUZZAH!!”

Matthew brandishes the hand. It has clearly replaced the fry as his weapon of choice. “And I object to- to-” a beat. “Your objection!”

Matthew then blinks. “Oh. Uh.” All acting dropped, he looks over at Johnsonsign, his mouth twitching apologetically.

Johnson howls in the whitespace of the plasticised sign on Joe's window, half in mock-outrage, half real indignance. Matty, you rat, give me back my hand! She thumps a wristbone against the glass.

Talon angrily tosses his fry towards Matthews head and dives in to try and snatch the hand from him when and if he is distracted by the incoming soggstick. “Objected!” is his battlecry.

Johnson's vanishment and severed hand, however, has been the final straw. The man with the mouthful of skinny potato sticks coughs, swallows, chokes, turns red and then purple and then begins thrashing.

Matthew, now feeling terrible, has his ears droop for real this time, quickly trotting over. He absently notices one of the patrons of Joe's hacking and coughing, and another getting up to assist.

Buddleia sits on the ground, giggling. She has no idea what's going on, but it's hilarious.

Johnson whirls round and for a moment vanishes from the room of white. On the other side, in the windowpane of Joe's diner a green coat and a sharp grin gleams into view for a moment as she watches.

Matthew, when he gets there, feebly reaches the detached hand back into the window. Sorry. he mouths.

Johnson reappears in the Joe's Diner sign again and beams at everyone with an air of a job well done, as behind the glass a rough heimlich is delivered and cheeseburgers and fries fly everywhere.

Johnson raises a comic-sans line of an eyebrow at Matthew but takes back the hand, grinning. No, thank YOU, she mouths back. That was entirely worth doing.

Talon, still aiming for the hand, whacks right into the sign, headfirst and all. Not being Johnson, or even a joker for that matter, it is quite solid to him, and quite painful. He oofs and drops.

Johnson takes a step back, eyebrows shooting up in alarm as a Talon appears for a moment and then schlumps down the solid wall of glass in the Real World. Um. Oh dear. Talon? Mate? You okay?

Matthew lets the smile return - not as strong - and then asks, silently: Will you be okay? He can't help her entirely, it seems.

Talon has the distinct feeling that someone is trying to talk to him, but he is too busy blacking out to actually listen.

Matthew then turns to blink down at Talon. Huh.

Buddleia crawls over to poke the sign-that-has-Johnson-in-it. “Did you lose weight? By going into Joe's? Damn, girl, I want to get on your diet plan.”

Johnson peers through the white shine of the sign, as far as she is able, strapping her wrist back on again in its grubby white plaster cast. How many fingers am I holding up?

Johnson glances up at Matt and grins. I'll be fine. At least we figured out I can actually get out of here, even if it's temporary. She blinks at Budd. I'm two dimensional, woman. Johnson adds, glancing over her shoulder into the humming room of white- and I don't need to lose anymore weight, thank you. I'm liable to blow away as it is.

Buddleia nods, “Yup, yup, you got that much thinner. It's plane to see.”

Matthew's not an expert lip reader; he lost her somewhere around 'we'. Still, he takes the assurance in the way it was met, with a nod. “I have to go,” he says aloud, both for Johnson's sake, and,

Matthew ensures, for those who can hear. “I'd- better get home.” He checks an invisible watch. “Soon.”

Matthew then stares at Buddleia for several moments, giving her a flat look. And then, as he gets the joke, he snorts.

Johnson grins. New Day coming soon, she remarks, glancing out into the empty sky of NewHome. Best get to our beds, my loves. She blows her friends a kiss from her sign, plastic and still.

Johnson does not deign to dignify Buddleia's puns with a response. Does not. She smirks instead and turns away, black rope of hair swinging across the i of Joe's sign, one hand waved. Night, guys.

Matthew, with a furtive look about him, as if he were checking for someone, slips out of NewHome himself. Time to go.

Buddleia protests, “But the night is yet young!”, standing up. She grins and waves at the audience inside.

Talon is, of course, left lying unconcious in front of Joes Diner. Not the kinda day he imagined he would have when he woke up this morning facedown in a steak.

Buddleia finds herself the last player still around and upright. Time to take a bow, or to clear up the mess? Who cares? She waves goodbye and skips off.