Part 1: After the Yawn

Dust was of little concern to most people. It sat about and collected on things - most anything really - unless it moved regularly of course. This meant it built up on rarely used books, hardly walked floors, and the tops of book cases and mirrors where people rarely swept. Hardly anyone noticed it until they were in a position where either it mattered to them (perhaps company was due at any moment) or they had little else to pay attention to.

There was no dust to be found in the room.

With an eye for detail; Rex Underwood, his ear pressed firmly against the wall as he listened - suddenly realized that the short bookcase to his right was completely absent to what he expected to see -- dust. It brought him to his knees inspecting the entirety of the bookcase. Every volume, some quite old, were free of dust. The floor around the bookcase was also free of dust. He stood, his old knees creaking as he did, and walked to the nearby corner where there would surely be dust or even a cobweb. Immaculate nothingness greeted him instead, and it seemed very odd indeed.

Nastya didn't notice the lack of dust. For better, or likely worse, she had been staring at a wall for several minutes absolutely sure that a door was plainly visible. The vibrations on the wall behind her lifted her somewhat heavy eye lids and she noticed for the first time that there was in fact no door to be seen whatsoever. But what was that sudden vibration on the wall? It had stopped almost as soon as it had begun, though maybe she had slept through several seconds of it?

Harold didn't know his own name or where he was or how he came to be there, but he was pretty damn sure that teddy bear hadn't been there just a moment ago. Then again, he hadn't been looking at that particular spot a moment ago. Still, he had checked the room quite thoroughly, could he have missed it? It was sitting there, plain as day on a small table obviously meant for a gramophone. No... he was sure it hadn't been there before -- pretty sure... And yet it sat there, its frumpy form folded half over so that it was simultaneously looking at him with its one button eye and also starring inevitably at the floor between itself and him. The matted fur appeared clean, though well worn, and it was obvious that this teddy bear had been through many a sandbox, car trip, and tea time in its day. It looked well loved. It also had seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

For Charlie, his dreams were smooth and inviting. Ever one to sleep well no matter where he was, the Scotsman laid comfortably in the twin sized canopy bed in his room. It was for the better really because his eyes were to be assaulted by the most sugary and sickeningly sweet color of dark pink striped wallpaper imaginable upon wakening. The French cafe and the lovely baker behind the counter would fade to a burning sensation in his retinas as his eyes slowly opened.

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