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CHAPTER 5

SLEEP TALK

Frank sat down heavily on the bus seat next to Sara, who gave him a weary smile. "You got off late, today," Frank said by way of greeting. Frank and Sara rode the bus together on the way to work, but Sara tended to get out about two hours earlier. The wolverine slumped against the window, black fur spreading out from the point of contact like spilled paint. "Jane had a thing with her boyfriend. I think she's pregnant, so I might be riding the late bus back more often from now on. Won't that be nice? We'll have more time to talk." Sara had done a good job of injecting some pep into her voice, but the effect was spoiled by the fact that she couldn't seem to lift her head off where it lay on the glass. Frank smiled back at Sara, hoping she couldn't see the pity in his eyes. She didn't need that from anybody, but him least of all.

Sara sighed through her nose and stared out at the passing buildings. A few minutes had passed, with Frank trying to think of what he might say to take Sara's mind off her troubles, when she sat up, appearing like some of the weight had been taken off her shoulders. "Hey, tomorrow's a Saturday, right? Maybe I can see my therapist." Frank blinked in disbelief. "You can afford a therapist? Er, no, that's not what I meant! I didn't mean 'afford', I meant--" Sara interrupted him by laughing. "It's okay," she said after a moment, "I know I'm poor. And no, I can't afford one. I meant May."

Frank put a hand on his chin. That was a name he had heard before. "That's...Jeb's wife, right? In room 103?" He had met neither her nor this Jeb character, but that was how she had been mentioned to him, if he recalled correctly. Sara confirmed with a nod. "She's the official therapist for The Homestead. Rather, she's a middle school guidance counselor, but she studied to be a therapist, and she still wants to do therapy, even if she can't get a proper job doing that. So, she'll do stuff for the residents. Not for free, mind, but much cheaper than a professional. She can't, like, get you medicine or anything, but if you just need to talk to someone, she's good for that, and gives good advice. You should see her when you get a chance. Everyone can benefit from talking to a therapist every once in a while."

Frank shook his head. "I dunno. Therapy's never been for me. How much would it cost, anyway?" Sara sat up straight, assuming a teacher's bearing. "Therapy is for everyone. I know that it's very _manly_to keep all your emotions bottled up, but I can guarantee that you'd feel better if you just talked to someone. There's a very real possibility of slipping into depressive habits without realizing it, and those habits are hard to break. Trust me, it happened to a cousin of mine." Frank stared at her after the lecture had ended, waiting for her to continue. "Also, it's twenty dollars an hour," she finished briskly.

Frank nodded. "I see," he said. He turned from Sara to stare out the window in the seat across from him. The busses were mostly empty at this time of night, so it was easier for him to see the passing city this way than to try and look past Sara out the closer window. He saw various store faces rush by. A tailor. A video game store. A furniture store. Turning back to Sara, he asked, "What does she know about dreams?" Sara turned from her own city watching to address Frank. She had been so absorbed by the night lights that Frank had to ask the question a second time.

Sara considered her answer. "As much as anyone in her field, I suppose" she said, sounding uncertain. "Why? Is that a specialist thing?" Frank threw up his hands. "Then you should ask her. She won't take your money if she doesn't think she can help you. She's not that kind of person." Frank still wore an expression of consideration as he turned back to the aisle. "Oh, come now," Sara said to his back. "What's the worst that could happen if you just ask? You could even help out Jeb with whatever job he's working on at the time, if you haven't got any money." Frank acquiesced with a mumble spoken too softly to be heard on the rattling bus. Still, Sara seemed satisfied, sitting back in her metal seat with a smile and quietly humming a pop tune Frank was only vaguely familiar with.

Frank sat on a plastic folding chair in his kitchen, the sole piece of furniture in the room, finishing the last of his coffee. He had been drinking it slow, trying to waste as much of the day as he could with a hot drink. It was finally starting to get cold now, and the heat in the apartment only worked when it felt like it. More than that, he had nothing to do once he was done with this cup. The numbers of hours he worked was consistent, but the days he worked changed seemingly randomly, which made it hard to plan for a day off, even when it was too cold out to really do anything. He wondered if there was anyone else hanging around that he could talk to. Adrianne was definitely floating around somewhere, but she was off limits. Mary was on the clock today. Ana was plain unpleasant. Sara? No, she was meeting with May the therapist today.

Frank tilted the cup back, but nothing hit his tongue. He stared sullenly at the inside of the white mug, already stained a bit browner than it had been when he bought it. He squirted a bit of soap in and filled the cup with water, leaving it to soak in the sink. Maybe that would remove the stain. He had no idea. He shifted his gaze to the spot above the light switch where Kane had been in his dream. I'd even talk to you at this point, he thought. The silence was beginning to get to him, so Frank grabbed his keys off the counter and left his room.

Frank turned to lock his door, for some reason. Why even bother when Ana could just break in with a nimble twist of her wrist? Because it was still a good rule to lock your door, in case the thief who came for you had forgotten their key rake. Besides, if someone came to rob him while he was out, it was at least nice to know they had to work for it. No free meals, even for them. The thought almost made Frank laugh.

"Good morning, horns," said a scratchy, sing-song voice, and instantly Frank's good humor abandoned him. "Good morning, Ozzy," Frank returned, making no effort to hide his lack of enthusiasm. "You're off today, too, then?" Frank turned to find the hyena leaning against the wall, muscular arms folded over a gray t-shirt, still bare in this cold weather. Merely looking at him made Frank shiver a little. "Yes and no," Ozzy said. "A guy I know is coming over later today. He never feels the need to tell me when he's coming, only that I need to be here when he arrives. So, here I am, on lookout." He sounded vexed in some way Frank couldn't place, but Frank figured it wasn't his problem.

Leaving Ozzy to his guard, Frank went to the common to find Mort and Sara in the middle of a discussion. "You need it more than me," Sara said. "Lord knows you've got it hard." Mort fidgeted a bit, obviously uncomfortable with the pity. "Just tell her you can't make it. She'll give you the money back." He looked over his shoulder at something, then shook his head. "I don't like talking to her, anyway. I'm not fucked in the head or anything." Sara put fists on her hips, narrowing her eyes. Sensing that he had stepped on a land mine, Mort looked about desperately for a way out that wouldn't involve a lecture. His eyes quickly landed on Frank.

Pointing at the sheep, Mort managed to open his mouth before Sara had found a good place to start her dissertation. "What about him? He just moved here. I'm sure that's stressful." He gave a nervous smile to the wolverine, who kept her eyes narrowed even as she nodded in agreement. "I'll ask," she said in a way that made it clear to Mort that he hadn't heard the last of this. He let out a breath as Sara moved away towards where Frank was standing, trying hard to pretend that he wasn't eavesdropping and trying even harder to pretend that he hadn't found the whole thing very amusing.

Frank raised a hand in greeting as Sara approached, hoping she thought that the smile on his face was because he was happy to see her and not because he had just been giggling at her and Mort's performance. Frank wished he could handle Mort half as easily. "Frank," she said as she got closer, "do you remember what we talked about last night?" Frank nodded. "You were going to see May today, right? Did something come up?" Sara tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace. "I just got the _wonderful_news that Jane is, in fact, pregnant, and will be taking today off to consult with a doctor. To make sure everything's copacetic, as far as the baby's health is concerned. As much as I hate to miss my appointment with May, I really do need the extra hours. What I'd hate even more, though, would be to ask for a refund." Frank got that, after a fashion. She was friends with this May woman, he assumed, and he had been in a similar situation with a guy back home who had tried to get him a bootleg copy of a movie that was still in the theaters. Frank had never asked for a refund, despite the movie having been recorded off the screen with his friend's phone.

"So, what?" he asked. "You want me to take your place?" Sara clapped her hands together happily. "Perfect deduction! And?" Sara looked up at him with hope sparkling in her eyes. She was the only woman Frank knew who was of a height to do that, and he found that he had trouble denying her when she stared at him like this. He gave a smile and a shrug, which was more than enough for Sara to decide that he had conceded. With some quick texts from Sara explaining the change in plans, it was done. Frank had his first appointment with a psychiatrist since he was fourteen. Was she a psychiatrist? He remembered hearing once that therapists and psychiatrists were different, but he couldn't remember in what way. He supposed it didn't matter, as he would be doing the same thing this visit that he had done back when he was fourteen: make small talk for a bit and then leave. No reason to trust this person with any personal matters.

Sara dashed out as soon as she had finished texting, leaving Frank alone with Mort. There was fifteen minutes before the start of his therapy session and going back to his room right after coming down the stairs would have been weird, so, instead, Frank tried to strike up a conversation with the polecat. "So, you working today?" asked Frank.

"I'd already be there if I was, wouldn't I?"

Frank gave a halfhearted nod. He felt like he should at least get some credit for making the attempt, but clearly Mort wasn't interested in working out whatever bad blood they had between them. Well, Frank wasn't going back to his room, but he also wasn't going to go outside and just stand around in the cold until his appointment either. He couldn't watch a video on his phone when he hadn't thought to bring headphones. The television might have been an option, but Mort had taken a seat on the plaid couch, facing away from him, and was sitting there quietly, staring at the carpet. Frank was still standing at the base of the steps, looking like a lost child, when he decided that the best thing he could do with his time was try and make peace with Mort. Mort already disliked him, so much so there seemed to be little possibility of making things worse on that front; plus, Frank had the excuse of the therapy session to use as an out if things got bad. Steeling himself, he walked over to the green couch opposite the front door and took a seat. Once more into the breach, he though.

"Um," Frank began, and Mort lifted his head to stare at him so intently that Frank nearly choked on what he was going to say. The polecat had a gleam in his eyes that said he was in no mood for small talk, appearing for all the world like he might start a fight if Frank tried. How did Sara manage him so well earlier? Frank cleared his throat and swallowed before continuing. "I don't actually know what you do." Frank had meant it as a question, but Mort had either not noticed or not cared to answer. "Will you tell me?" he asked after a moment of silence had passed.

"What do you care?" asked Mort in a monotone.

It took a supreme effort on Frank's part not to bury his face in his hands and give up. "I'm going to be living here for at least a year, so why not get to know my neighbor?" He forced a smile on his face, but Mort's continued glaring made it hard to maintain. Luckily, Mort turned his eyes away, almost causing Frank to sigh in relief, facing the carpet again. He slumped down with his elbows on his thighs. "I'm a mechanic. Fix up cars," Mort said without looking up. Progress! Minute progress, but there all the same. Frank's smile became genuine.

Emboldened, Frank asked some questions about what it was like at his job, what got him into being a mechanic, what kind of cars he liked the most. Mort gave answers without any more prodding, but his temperament failed to improve no matter what Frank changed the subject to. Already to the point, his responses became more clipped as the minutes went by, if that was even possible. Frank saw what was happening, of course, but was determined to get Mort to open up to him, at least a little bit, so he could figure out where this animosity came from. Switching from work to more fun topics, such as music, was no upgrade. Frank was beginning to grow frustrated with the attitude. With no idea where it even came from, he couldn't even start to consider what to do about it.

"What's your problem with me?", Frank asked, tired of dancing around the issue. Mort took his eyes off the floor for the first time since the conversation began, sticking a tongue in his cheek and cocking his head at Frank. The confused look on his face pissed Frank off fiercely, reminding him of a younger cousin who would use the same look whenever he got caught doing something bad, pretending innocence while standing not two feet from a new stain on the carpet. "Don't give me that," he said, irritation now obvious in his voice. "You've been being a dick to me from the instant we met. Why?"

A wary suspicion crossed Mort's features as he stiffened in his seat. "I seem to remember offering you a ride back here when we first met." His voice remained level, but there was an edge of anger boiling beneath the surface. "Is that what kids consider 'being a dick' these days?" Frank noticed the challenge in Mort's tone but refused to back down. He hadn't done anything to deserve this treatment, so he wasn't simply going to lie back and take it.

"You know what I mean," Frank asserted, his tone becoming heated. "You give me these weird looks when you think I'm not looking, you refuse to talk to me and, if you recall, when you gave me that ride back here, you spent the whole time threatening me for daring to talk to you wife." Frank folded his arms and raised himself up, trying to appear more intimidating than he knew a 4'10" sheep really was. Mort inhaled slowly through his nose, running a tongue across his teeth as he did so. "I was giving you some advice, Hale. I noticed you talking to Adrianne and felt there were some things you needed to know. There's nothing else between you and me." Frank felt himself inhaling sharply as he craned his neck to stare at the ceiling, searching for answers in the spots of mold.

This again! He sees his wife hitting on a younger guy and, instead of talking to her, feels the need to start shit with the one who didn't even say anything! Why didn't he get his own house in order before he started picking fights with strangers? Maybe, if he stopped acting like such an ass, he wouldn't be having this problem in the first place!

Frank turned his head back down to see Mort sitting bolt upright, hackles raised and eyes seeming ready to pop from his skull. Shit, did he say some of that out loud? "Hey, Hale," said Mort, acid dripping from every syllable, "Could you repeat that for me? I think I misheard." Whatever. That's fine. It's not like Frank had said anything he hadn't meant. He glanced at the clock. Time for therapy. "I don't think you did," Frank said as he stood. Turning on a hoof, he stalked away towards his appointment, leaving the seething polecat where he sat. He could feel Mort's stare trying to bore a hole between his shoulder blades as he turned into the hall leading to room 103.

Standing in front of the door, Frank took in a deep breath and held it, trying to disperse the cloud of anger that lingered in his head. It wouldn't go away for a while yet, not completely, but Frank wanted to appear as collected as he possibly could before meeting May, lest she think he always walked around with a sour attitude. A few more breaths and his hands were no longer locked into trembling fists. Frank satisfied himself that this was as calm as he was going to get at the moment and knocked at the door.

Frank was so worked up that the scant seconds in between his knock and the door opening found him tapping his hoof with impatience. He fidgeted nervously, staring back down the hall he came from. Was Mort going to chase after him? No, he would have done it by now if he was that mad. Frank felt a nauseous anxiety rushing in like a tide to replace the anger that was slowly draining out of him. Now that he thought about it, saying what he had to Mort had been really, really stupid. Doubling down even more so. Mort had been here longer so, even if he was in the wrong, the other residents were sure to take his side. Mort had said, during that car ride back on his second day, that he would get the other tenants behind him if Frank ever did anything wrong. What did that mean, though? Would he get everyone together to file a complaint to the landlord? There was no possibility of being evicted, was there? None of this was fair. Frank had gone to college. He should have a real job, with a salary, instead of being dependent on his boss giving him enough hours that he could eat and use hot water every day.

Frank nearly jumped out of his skin when the door opened. He stared at the figure taking up the entire doorway, blocking Frank from seeing into the room with their massive frame. The man, who Frank realized must have been May's husband, Jeb, was a giant, black, bear of a man (also literally a black bear) with a powerfully muscled torso partially concealed by a flecktarn jacket. "You must be Frank," he drawled in a deep, friendly voice. He extended his arm for a handshake and Frank took it gladly. Five seconds in and already much better than his last encounter. Frank was led into a room only slightly bigger than his own, then shuffled to the kitchen to see a doe in her middle years sitting at one end of a cheap yet well cared for glass table. This was the first herbivore other than himself and Mr. Shomer that Frank had seen in The Homestead.

Jeb made Frank wait outside the kitchen for a minute while he shared a short conversation with the doe, who had to be May, then excused himself as he snuck past Frank and left the room. For patient confidentiality, Frank was sure. Even if this room was bigger than his, it was still one room with a kitchen growing off it like a fungus on a log. May gestured for him to take a seat across from her and took out a notepad. "Would you like some water?" she asked as Frank took his chair. Frank declined and winced slightly when May made a note. He really didn't like feeling as if he was being studied; there was no way he would have agreed to do this if anyone but Sara had asked.

The doe put her pen down and folded her hands on the table in front of her. "Let's get right to it then. My name is May Giselle. I'd like to help you in any way I can, but I'm going to need to know you a bit before I can. Would you mind if I asked a few questions?" Frank was going to shrug in response but, feeling that might have come off as juvenile, turned the shrug into a stretch as he answered. "Sure. Ask me anything." May nodded and picked up her pen again, hovering it above her paper. "First, how are you handling the move? I'm told you came from quite the distance."

"Delaware, yes," Frank said. "The move itself has been fine. I already have a job and a roof over my head, so I'm doing better than some of my friends from back home did." He gave a weak laugh as he finished. He had intended for that to come off as funny, but whatever was supposed to be humorous had left him as the words came out. It was funnier when he first left his home, when he got a couple messages in the group chat from friends telling him how jealous they were. He had thought things would start getting better once he had his own place, back then. Frank considered amending his statement to May with his ruminations but decided against it. She was a neighbor before she was his therapist, and Frank didn't want his neighbor thinking he was pathetic.

"Great," said May, a professional smile on her face as she wrote. "Any trouble with new people? Anyone in the apartment, maybe?" Frank gripped his pant leg so tight his palm hurt. "All's good," he said, not that there was any point. If Mort kept his promise, May and everyone else in The Homestead would be hearing about their argument. Maybe May already knew something about it because she raised a suspicious eyebrow when Frank failed to provide more information. "Okay," May said as she made another note. The argument had gotten heated, but there had been no yelling. Was it just that obvious? The only thing Frank liked less than when doctors made a big show of analyzing his personality and then getting everything wrong was when they got things right.

May looked up from her notes and sat back in her chair, seeming to grow more serious. "Sara tells me that you want to talk about some dreams you've been having?" Frank flinched like he had been hit. No hiding that. He had completely forgotten bringing that up yesterday. _First that, then Mort. Why can't I keep my God damned mouth shut?_Frank wondered if he could make something up that didn't make him seem as much of a freak as the truth would have. He tried to stammer something out, but the lie wouldn't form together in his mind and became a string of borderline unintelligible nonsense coming out of his mouth until he realized he wasn't getting anywhere. He finished lamely, head shrinking down between his shoulders.

May's face adopted a patient look, like a teacher lecturing a kid about why the whole day couldn't be spent at recess. Now that Frank thought about it, she was a middle school guidance counselor. This might be the face she used for that exact situation. "I can't help you if you don't talk to me." Her face softened, blue eyes shimmering as they stared into him. "I may not be a professional, but I still have a professional's ethics. Nothing you say leaves this room, no matter what happens. I promise." Frank heaved a deep sigh. There was more than fifty minutes left in this session. Talking around things constantly would just exhaust the both of them.

Steeling his nerves, Frank described the dreams with the table as well as he could remember them. He half expected May to interrupt to recommend that he start taking antipsychotics or see if he could find more professional help. Instead, she just nodded as he spoke and continued her writing in silence, which was almost worse. When he had finished, she tapped her pen against her lips, staring at him as she considered what questions to ask him next. "Does anything happen on the days these dreams occur?" Frank reached up with his right hand and ran two fingers across the rough surface of his horn. What did she mean by that? It took Frank a minute, but, when he could recall, he was shocked to find that there was a pattern.

"Whenever I meet someone new. Or maybe whenever something significant happens." May smiled and spread her hands. "Now, that's not all that strange, is it?" she began in a comforting tone. "I think it's perfectly normal to have a nightmare or two when something stressful happens the day leading up to it. Even if you get along perfectly with all the new people you meet," Frank tried to hide a nervous twitch by clearing his throat, "you may still feel some level of stress on an unconscious level. That stress then manifests itself in a more obvious way at night."

For reasons he was not able to place, Frank suddenly felt uncomfortable. Something in what the doe said stuck out awkwardly. Still running his fingers back and forth across his horn, Frank racked his brain to bring the issue into focus. Misunderstanding the cause of Frank's feeling, May began speaking in a consolatory tone. "It doesn't say anything bad about you. New people, new home, new job. It takes a toll on you, even if you can't feel it in the moment. I think that is why you have these nightmares after you meet a new person." Frank's ears perked up at a word in that last sentence. Squinting quizzically, he asked, "What do you mean, 'after'?"

May's face returned to the patient, lecturing kind Frank was sure she used on the kids she worked with. "When you meet new people, you may not have a particularly strong reaction. You probably even enjoy the meeting, knowing the characters we have here in The Homestead. It may not even be the meetings, specifically, causing these dreams, but they add a little bit more stress to your already stressful life. The little stresses accumulate, then, when you go to sleep the night after meeting a new person--"

"I have the dreams the morning before I meet a new person," Frank interjected. "Like, I have the dream one night, then meet someone when I wake up." May's smile wavered for an instant, a hint of confusion coming to her face. "Oh?" she said. "When was the last time you had this dream? Yesterday? This morning?"

Frank shook his head. Not in denial, but disbelief. "Not yesterday. But I did have it this morning." That wasn't possible, though. You couldn't tell the future from dreams and, even if you could, it would surely happen to someone other than Frank. It had to be a coincidence. Recovering from her initial surprise, May seemed to agree. Taking a glance at the notes she had taken so far, May changed her angle of approach. "Here's another idea," she said, hardly breaking stride. "Maybe this dream is about control. You have this horrifying character, this Kane, and you choose, in your lucid state, not to let him scare you."

That was plausible. Frank had recently begun feeling that his life had left his hands. Stuff like his boss changing what days he was working every week or Ana being able to come into his room even if he locked it. She hadn't done that since the first time, but the knowledge that she, or perhaps a more unsavory individual, could, made him constantly nervous. This wasn't the worst part of the city, but it wasn't the best, either. Bobbing his head in tacit agreement, Frank let out a breath he hadn't been aware he had been holding. "Alright," he said. "Control. What am I supposed to do about that?"

May rapped her knuckles on the glass. "Your dreams seem to focus on this table, so why not buy a table? I know it can be hard to think of a room you're renting as 'your' room, but it can feel like a prison if you don't take steps to personalize it a bit." Frank took his hand off his horn and folded it in his lap. This was making some decent sense, now. He had been putting off getting more furniture for his room, since these were only temporary living arrangements, but his lease wouldn't be up for another eleven months. That was a long time to live the spartan lifestyle. Plus, even if he got a better job sooner than later, he probably wouldn't make the money to buy a house in a year, so he'd be renewing the lease at least once.

He was sure now. That stuff with Kane and his being returned to the "Great Mother" was, almost definitely, about him missing his parents or something similar. One of those Freudian things. He had seen a YouTube video about Freud that was nearly an hour long, so he was pretty confident that he understood matters of that nature. "I think I will buy a table. I can feel myself getting jealous after sitting here for so long." May laughed along this time. Frank felt his spirits lifting as he spent the rest of the session talking to May about problems at work and his struggle to find a decent diner.

"Sara can help with that better than I could. She's always on the hunt for good eats. I imagine she knows every dive and hole-in-the-wall in Wichita by now. If you want, I can--Oh, looks like time's up." Frank twisted in his seat to see Jeb coming in the room, head bowed slightly to avoid banging it against the doorframe. "Sorry," the bear said, "Hate interrupting like this, but it's almost time for the game." It was far enough into autumn that the hockey pre-season was starting. Hockey was big here in Wichita, or at least in The Homestead. Frank had heard Ozzy and Mary discussing the sport before and had seen Ana wearing a team shirt at least twice.

Pushing his chair back, Frank stood and stretched. He hadn't sat in a chair for an hour straight since his night out gambling. That would be another good reason to get a table: So he didn't have to eat standing up, feeling like a moron as he paced around the room holding a cup of yogurt. "Thanks for talking with me," Frank told May, and meant it. "It's a pleasure," May responded as Jeb reached out a hand to help her stand. "You have to pay to get me private, but don't be afraid to just come up and talk to me every once in a while, if you really need to."

Jeb walked Frank to the door, which was only three steps from the kitchen, but the thought was appreciated. "Hey, you free this Friday?" Jeb asked once Frank had stepped into the hallway. Frank threw up his hands. "I don't find out until tomorrow. Why? What's up?" Jeb reached into the chest pocket of his jacket and pulled out a phone. "Need to pick this up." He showed Frank a picture of a T.V., much nicer than the one in the common, though still obviously used. "Ain't too heavy," Jeb stated as he stuffed the phone back where it came from, "but it's big enough to need two people to carry it. The guy I'm getting it from is only ten minutes away, so it shouldn't be any trouble."

There was no mention of compensation, but Frank supposed there wouldn't be. This was simply one neighbor asking another for a favor. Something about that put a bit of pride in his breast. "What the hell, why not? I'll see if I'm working, but I'll totally help if I can." Smiling, Jeb extended his hand, and they shook their agreement. Jeb gave a little more information, such as when he'd want to leave, then said farewell and retreated to his room. Still smiling, Frank turned to head back to the stairs. He saw a fox.

"Hello, Adrianne," he said.

"Fuck you," said Adrianne, then she darted into her room, slamming the door behind her. Frank had forgotten that her and Mort's room was right next to May's. He figured he should have expected this, in some form, after the shit he gave her husband. It had taken Frank an hour to build up a good mood, and Adrianne two seconds to ruin it. Surely, she didn't approve of Mort getting pissy every time she talked to a guy, so why take his side? Whatever. Frank lived here now. He'd just have to learn how to deal with those two. Sticking his nose in the air, he tromped off to his room to browse through cheap tables on eBay.