In November of the same year, Dawn came and visited Paul and Reggie again.

"Go away," the former suggested, after he'd opened the door.

"Don't you think it's awfully impolite not to ask me in when it's this cold outside?"

Paul scowled. "No," he barked and was about to shut the door, when Reggie suddenly emerged from behind him, wearing a disturbingly cheerful smile, and said, "Why, if it isn't Dawn! Come right in!"

Paul boiled.

"I hope you evaporate," he told her, while Reggie made hot chocolate in the kitchen, and was promptly thrown out into the garden. About half an hour later, he was allowed back in and instantly ordered to go and buy ingredients for dinner with Dawn.

Too cold and tired to protest, he obeyed.

"Am I really that obnoxious?" she asked, while weighing some tomatoes.

"Yes," he answered, automatically, and eyed the various kinds of vegetables displayed before him with disinterest.

"You're supposed to say no, you know," she said, half question, half statement, and put the plastic bag with the tomatoes in the cart. She felt like she was talking to a psyduck. Although, as an afterthought, that was probably more effective than this.

"And I care because … ?" He still didn't look at her, which began to drive her even madder than his actual replies.

"If you continue being this uncooperative with me," she huffed. "I'll tell Reggie and then you can sleep outside tonight and think about what you've done."

"Sometimes my life is indescribably unfair."

Jerkily, Dawn directed the cart to the freezer chests. "Quit being such a giant baby and fetch me some tabasco sauce."

"You're acting like one yourself," he remarked and then abruptly stopped in his tracks. "Wait, tabasco—"

"SEXUAL HARRASSMENT," Dawn exploded. "I AM NOT A BOY."

For a moment, all Paul could do was gape. Then he debated whether he should

a) ignore her.

b) play along.

c) punch her in the face.

d) make a run for it.

Silly as he unfortunately was, he picked option b). (And as everyone but him knows, everything ends with option b).)

"What," he snarled menacingly, soaking up pretty much the entire rest of his willpower in the process. "Are you doing there, idiot girl?"

"LEAVE ME ALONE WITH YOUR PSEUDO-KINKY NICKNAMES, YOU CREEP," she seethed. "I'VE HAD IT UP TO HERE WITH YOUR OBSCENITIES."

He had nothing, absolutely nothing, adequate to oppose this. His brain was the perfect carbon copy of a completely empty sheet of paper.

"Security to aisle eight," the speakers started blaring, as Dawn went berserk on a shelf with preserved food. "I repeat, security to aisle eight."

Discreetly, Paul began his withdrawal, silently praying no-one would notice she was with him. Naturally, about three fourths of the tins managed to hit his head.

Dawn considered the fact that the manager of the supermarket merely decided to kick them out instead of firing restraining orders on them something marvellous. Thus, on their way home, without having bought anything at all, she was humming away one tune after another.

Paul felt as if he had just been killed and immediately resurrected simply to suffer the consequences. And even though most of his brain was definitely set on homicidal fury, another almost equally big part just wanted to break into a violent fit of laughter, which he had, ominously, no proper reason for.

He concluded that his brother's and/or maybe this girl's insanity must be rubbing off on him and, with faint horror, realised that he didn't really care.