Charles stomped around the dingy Cantina, his head in his hands and his brow furrowed in frustration. And this was quite a sight, considering he was a towering and impressive six-foot-one. His tangled brown beard and waist-length hair only added to his daunting appearance.

Sitting in a chair next to the one Charles had just left, Ada, too, was knitting her brow in deep thought. Compared to Charles, her features were far more softer; she was fair-haired and her eyes, the colour of moss, were large and dreamy. Of course, she was Finnish.

"Nope, you're wrong, dear," said Ada.

Charles stopped pacing.

"No, no, no, I'm quite sure that I am right; it just looks right."

"No it doesn't," she replied. "You don't spell 'grey' with an 'a'. That would be utter foolishness. It's silly. And plus, I looked it up," she added smugly.

Charles grinned. "Liar."

"Am not! I never lie! I take offense to that."

Charles laughed boyishly and sat back down in his stool nest to Ada. He rummaged around in his coat for something, yelped in pain, and pulled out a mousetrap. He tossed it aside and dug back in. He grunted, satisfied, and pulled out a dictionary.

"How much stuff do you have in there?"

"It's bigger on the inside, my dear," he said with a twinkle in his eye. "Now, let's see here . . . 'gray' . . . ah, here it is! Eureka!"

He handed the dictionary over to Ada, his index finger on one of the words. She handed the book back, after taking a long look at it.

"I don't believe it. Nuh uh," she harrumphed.

"But-" Charles began, but was interrupted when a small dark-haired boy appeared by the jukebox, dropped a quarter in, and selected Crazy Little Thing Called Love by Queen. Both Ada and Charles turned as Brendan slid back into the shadows where he couldn't be seen.

"This thing called love, I just can't handle it," the sweet voice of Freddie Mercury crooned. "This thing called love, I must get 'round it."

Charles shook his fist at the juke box and cried, "Who turned on that racket, we were having a conversion here!"

"It's Queen, hun, who do you think turned it on? Honestly, dear."

"Hmph."

Freddie was blissfully unaware, as he continued singing, "There goes my baby. She knows how to rock 'n roll. She drives me crazy. She gives me a hot cold fever, then she leaves in a cool, cool sweat."

Charles walked over and pounded on the jukebox. Freddie's voice faded and died. Charles stuck his thumbs up, leaning against the jukebox, and cocked an eyebrow.

"Heeeyyyy."

Ada giggled. "You're very good at Fonzie impressions, you know."

Charles blushed and sat back down.

"I still think that it's spelled G-R-A-Y," he whispered, his face turned to the ground and blushing violently.

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever, hey, Ziffy! How do you spell 'grey'?"

Ziffy, a redheaded kid, had just meandered out of the kitchen. He stopped dead in his tracks and paled.

"Er," he said softly, stuttering under the pressure, "I th-think A-a-ada's r-right."

Ada smiled victoriously.

"No way, Zif, you're only saying that because you have a crush on Ada!" Charles protested. "See here." He pulled out the dictionary, flipped to the correct page, and pointed it out to Zif.

"W-well," he started to say. His face, which had begun to return to its origina; ruddy colour, paled again, and he zoomed back into the kitchen.

"Ugh, that settles it, Charles. I'm right, you're wrong." Ada was grinned ear-to-ear now. She, too, was blushing.

Charles sighed. "This is futile, let's just agree to disagree."

"Fine."

Ada glared at Charles and stepped through the double doors into the kitchen where Zif had disappeared, and Charles was left alone. He smiled, valuing the silence, and fished around his coat pocket once more. When he came up, he was holding a copy of J.R.R. Tolkien's Lord of the Rings and read where he had last marked his place.