Mark yanked out the drawer of his coffee table and pulled out a small .22 caliber pistol. After a quick inspection of the firearm, he slid it back into the drawer and slammed it shut. He sighed while walking back to the counter, where Arthur was frowning at the empty picture frame resting on the marble surface. He snatched the cup of tea in front of Arthur, and tilted the liquid into his mouth, the steam blanketing his vision. After drawing some tea, he set down the cup and nodded.

It's fine" he said.

"What do you mean, 'it's fine'?" Arthur asked.

"Once you've had someone's tea, you've had everyone's tea."

"That doesn't make sense."

Arthur took the picture frame and walked to a discarded, destroyed box shoved into the corner of the room. He rubbed his chin and turned the frame over, scanning the back of it.

"What's with the frame?"

Mark's eyes rose and he walked to Arthur. He reached out and snatched the frame away from him. Arthur stared as Mark hustled back to the counter and lay the frame flat on the counter.

"Rule nineteen. Don't know, don't touch." Mark said.

"I know its a frame. I want to know what it is. You're worse than that old frog at times, I swear." Arthur huffed.

Mark bit at his fingernails and shrugged his shoulders. Arthur grabbed his guitar and plugged it into the amplifier.

"You're going to play that now?" Mark asked.

"If you got time to breath, you got time for music, idiot." Arthur said as the first power chords reverberated through the room.

Mark jumped up so high, he thought he would crash his head through the ceiling onto the next floor.

Suddenly, he felt a vibration in his front jean pocket. He whipped out his phone, and juggled it in the air before capturing it in his hands. He looked at the number, and ran to Arthur.

"Shut up for a minute. Its the lady."

"Who? Silvia?"

"It's a little late, don't you think?" Mark said into the speaker.

"Sorry Mister Warner, but we are very busy here." Mark heard a beeping in the background and a muffled cheering sound from people around the phone.

"Are you playing Flappy Birds, lady?" Mark asked with his eyes wider than a dinner plate.

"So, involving your inquiry on our return policy. Is the subject awake?"

"Is she talking about me like that? How dare she. I am an able-bodi-."

"No. Deader than a doornail." Mark said.

"Nice try, Mister Warner."

Mark ruffled his hair and stared at the frazzled nation in front of him. "So I guess returns are out of the question. What about exchanges?"

"I'm not a dog, you stupid maroon." Arthur shouted.

"Sorry sir, but Prim and Proper back there is right." The voice said through the phone. "You must keep him."

"For how long?" Mark asked in desperation.

At that moment, Mark heard a depression beeping noise, and then the light front he corner of his eye went out. He turned his head to his phone, and saw a black screen of uncertainty and depression. Mark balled his hands and planted them on his forehead. His breathing grew deep and loud as Arthur looked on, his eyebrows rising in concern. Arthur heard Mark mutter something to himself, and he moved towards him.

"Come again?" Arthur said.

"What was that?" Mark asked.

"You said something like 'toes' or something crazy like that."

"Right. I had a Psych teacher in high school that taught some technique for relaxing. From the toes up."

Arthur scratched the back of his head and chuckled. "Right. Whatever drives your car, then."

Mark grabbed his button-down red shirt and started to thread it on. Arthur went to his guitar and unplugged it, along with the amplifier. He went back to his silent "owner" and cleared his throat. Mark shot a glance at Arthur, and sighed.

"I need to clear my head. A lot has happened over the past few days. I don't trust you in this house, so you're coming with me."

Wanker, glad you finally faced the facts."

I havent faced anything. I'm just waiting to wake up.

Do you normally go into the ghet

a taxi cab pulled up to a cracked sidewalk curb. Mark and Arthur left the cab and looked up at the rectangular building in front of them. The tomato-red bricks covered the front of the building, with a large neon sign blanketing the rest of the entrance. Two large windows lay on each side of the small black door. A rotund man in black clothing sat in a rocking chair next to the building. through the windows, rows of pool tables were lined up, and loud music escaped onto the street.

"this is more my style. Pool hall?" Arthur asked.

"From the stuff I've learned about you , I figured you wanted a place more...entrenched in music."

"Sounds fine to me. Bar is in there, right?"

"alcoholism is hard to overcome." Mark muttered to himself.

Arthur lightly punched him on his shoulder and they walked up to the big man.

"This place is reserved tonight." The man stood up and put his arm out to halt the two.

"I'm sure these would say otherwise." Mark threw a large was of cash into the mans outstretched arm. The bouncer counted the money, and he flung the cash on the ground.

"That's seventeen dollars." the man shouted.

"Sir, your only getting around ten an hour, right. Consider it a bonus." Mark said.

"Get out of here." the man shouted.

Mark wrapped his arm and Arthur and turned away from the man before whispering to him.

"Nice going, idiot. why'd you think that was gonna do anything. How the hell do we get inside?"

"there's only one sure-fire way to get in. The greatest sport ever created. Gay chicken."

Arthur choked on his own spit and he keeled over in a fit of coughing. Mark smirked as he took his hand and smacked Arthur on the back, causing him to hack up once more.

"Hell freezes over before that happens." Arthur shouted.

"Calm down. I'm kidding. I know another way through."

Arthur'a eye twitched before he turned to the man in the rocking chair. His eyebrows lowered, and his eyelids formed slits as his nostrils flared. As the bouncer stood up, Arthur took the mans collar and lifted him onto the door. Mark ran over and tried to pull the country away, but Arthur's firm build stood its ground.

"You pathetic excuse for stardust. You think you can keep me out. Do you know how much I've gone through and seen lately. Only to have some cone head tell me I can't get a few pints in this establishment. I'll make sure the patterns on that stupid shirt your wearing are tire patches after I throw you into the street."

The man trembled slightly, and sweat started to roll down his head. Mark stood back and caught the man's gaze. He shrugged and pointed at Arthur. The man groaned, bringing a pause to the thick silence that swirled around them.

"I like doing things the smart, calm way."

"Which is why you never get things done."

Mark lined up his pool stick behind the ivory ball in front of him, trying to keep the slow swaying of the chandelier over the table from distracting him. Mark stuck his tongue out, and inched back his arm.

"With that staring, I thought you were going the gay chicken route after all." Mark said. He pinched his arm through the swaying, dull light of the room, and the ball hit a purple seven, bouncing it off the green velvet wall and resting in the middle of the table.

"I'm rusty, but I go here a lot for shenanigans. What was up with the stardust thing, anyway?" Mark asked.

"You've never heard that saying? We're all made of stardust." Arthur moved his stick behind the ball coated in blue chalk, quickly releasing his sticks wrath onto the ball and making it hit a fifteen ball. That ball caromed off the wall and lay inches from a corner pocket.

"Didn't know you were a science geek." Mark asked.

"I've learned a thing or two."

"I can't imagine how. Is that programming or something."

"Still trying to figure me out?" Arthur pointed to the white ball laying on the edge of the table.

Mark licked his lips and leaned down onto the table. Hw closed one of his eyes to line up his shot. "In my life, I've lived in a reality that is built on certain illusions of lies and deceit. I'd like to be more stable, and your existence makes that tough."

"My existence causes you distress? You tried to cut me open like a can o. Yams when we first met." Arthur said.

"It was gun, not a knife. Fact and fiction has been hard to tell the difference between for me, and for good reasons."

"Do those reasons involve drugs?"

Mark took another shot, and missed again. He stood up and faced Arthur. "Look at us, Iggy. We are-."

"Don't say that."

"But it's so endearing. We should really have pet names for each other by now. Anyway, we're moderately attractive twenty-somethings in an urban area. at least I am. Your like a thousand years old, and your more immature than anyone I know."

"I am a highly sophisticated-."

"Gentleman." Mark finished his sentence. "Not with those ripped jeans and tight leather jacket. Who are trying to impress here?"

"So about twenty-something's." Arthur said loudly.

"Yes. The point is that if I were to take drugs, it would be good ones."

"Don't say love." Arthur said as he leaned down for a shot at the cue ball.

"Seretonin, idiot. The happy chemical. If you want love, though, oxytocin will fix that up."

"You're terrible at billiards talk." Arthur said as he whiffed on his shot at the cue ball.

Mark coughed into his fist. "You wouldn't know normal conversation if it tried to drown you in a bathtub. It's pool, by the way."

"Where I'm from, it-."

"A box."

Arthur hit the ball, and it flew off of the table, hitting the wood boards on the wall. Arthur cursed, and held his head. The aroma of smoke and beer danced around the room, mixing with the harsh jazz guitar that was strumming to a high hat cymbal.

"When is Silvia coming over?" Arthur asked with his head still in his hands.

Mark crossed his arms with his pool stick wedged between his chest and his arm. "Probably later tonight. She said she wanted a look around, since she didn't get a chance yesterday."

"Good. I'll put something good on."

Mark raised an eyebrow. "Your making something, or wearing decent clothes for once."

"No. I mean, I'll just put good music on. That dreary place needs some color to it, anyway."

"Well, you put something nice on and keep her entertained." Mark smirked at Arthur, whose face started growing red in the dim light.

"Not like that, pervert." Arthur shouted, his face contorting in frustration.

"Just play strip poker with her or something. I'm going to look at my manual for class on Monday. My test is coming up soon, and you don't know how to fly. Where the hell is the ball?"

Arthur lowered his head and pointed to a large dent in the beer-stained yellow wood. "Lets play darts instead. The hole in the wall is telling me that it's probably in the street."