It was the same whether he was awake or asleep. Atlas opened his eyes, blinked at the darkness and then closed them again. Jasper's aversion to morning light seemed to have been shared with even his guest rooms. The curtains that hung above the rooms windows were thick, dark and apparently impervious to light. Which, Atlas rolled to look at the clock on the nightstand, a feat considering it was almost noon. Lying back he listened to the incidental noises around the house and from beyond the curtains and tried to remember the last time he had slept in until noon. It had certainly been awhile....sometime before Daphne had unveiled her cinnamon buns. Those all went before 10:30...some minutes later he came to the conclusion that it was better to just enjoy it rather than dwell on it and settled for dozeing. After fifteen minutes he had exhausted all the fun that had to offer and got out of bed.

Rudolph wasn't in his basket and a quick search around the room revealed a few dropped fingers leading to the door and out. With any luck he had stuck to making breakfast and dusting the shelves rather than waking Jasper with French curlers and hair dye. If he had Atlas knew he'd be spending the greater part of his day reassembling the skeleton while trying to placate Jasper. It would at least give him something to do. From what Jasper had said the Ministry was wrapping up its investigation of SHOP's wreckage but it still wasn't clear for him to go in and beginning sifting through the rubble himself.

Busying himself with getting dressed. He had one arm through the sleeve of the no doubt very expensive finely made shirt Jasper must have ordered for him (Atlas suspected that it secretly delighted Jasper to have an excuse to have purchased a few articles of clothing not from consignment or 2010 for him) and was working on the other one when he paused. The bandages where still there, stark white, and bulky. Flexing his fully healed fingers the bandages stretched, making a low pitched squeek sound as the fibers pulled against each other. No pain though. "Enough of this then...." He tugged at the mass but it didn't give way it must have been sealed somehow to make it stay in place.

Shrugging into the shirt and rolling up his right sleeve he traveled down the hall, past the study and eventually found himself in the kitchen. It looked like one of those model kitchens, the kind you saw in magazines or home repair stores. The kitchen was stocked with enough equipment to perform and impromptu iron chef battle, the result of Jasper having long ago run out of other useless things to buy. A scan of the counters presented nothing that held an edge, tea kettle on the stove, drawers and cabinets closed, and a knife set. Bingo. He removed one, frowned when he discovered it was a cleaver and replaced it to pull another. The second held a serrated edge, good for cutting bagels but not really what he was looking for. Third time was a charm as he pulled a long paring knife from the set. None of them looked as if they'd ever had any use. Carefully he wedged the blade underneath the bandages before turning it upward, the bladed edge now pulling the bandages taunt.

Biting his bottom lip lightly and doing his best not to think of the sensation of his top and bottom jaw joining together. He applied more pressure, this followed by a tearing sound. More pressure. The dressing gave, tearing up around the knife and causing it to slip momentarily. Atlas was careful not to cut himself as he made quick work of the rest of the oppressive covering. As soon as he felt it was no longer needed he set the knife on the counter next to him and used one hand to unwind it.

Free now he held up the arm for inspection. It didn't look like his arm. It wasn't that he had spent a good deal of time inspecting his arm before, it was one of those limbs that one never really thought to give careful consideration. It was there so often that if not for waving, or having to stir something, or flying a kite, one might forget they had one. As it was, even in the barely there memories he had of his arm, what he was looking at most certainly didn't match the description.

It was wreathed in white ringlets, like the insides of trees, or the mouth of a lamprey eel. Some of them looked like pock marks and where his skin used to match the rest of him it now looked pale, glassy, ghoulish even. Panic rose fast and unexpectedly and for a moment he completely forgot he was in Jasper's kitchen in the middle of the day, all he thought about were gnashing teeth and blood and... something was behind him. He went for a wand that wasn't there at the same time he turned and found, not a veela or a menacing irish man, but Jasper. Breathing heavily Atlas looked at the stove, more specifically at the clock blinking above it. Quarter of one, Jasper must have come up for lunch. Atlas didn't know that he ate lunch.

"I..." he started, stopped. Didn't like the way his voice sounded. Self consciously he rolled down his sleeve, covering his arm before buttoning the cuffs. The kitchen felt small suddenly. "I want to go out." But that seemed non descript even for him. "Not in the alley. Somewhere else...." His mind searched for options. "Dixons. That's a place right?"

Jasper spent most of his mornings these days listening for footsteps. At first it had just been Rudolph's telltale clatter as he skulked about with various dastardly hair appliances, but this week it had developed into a mixture of bones and Atlas' more muffled steps. Unlike Jasper, who would have gladly slept until about three in the afternoon (when it became socially acceptable to have cocktails and Carl Barat deemed it appropriate to venture outdoors), Atlas awoke at ungodly hours. Like eight. One day he'd gotten up at seven and Jasper had gone downstairs to ask if he was ill. Atlas had replied that he was fine, he was just making some adjustments to Jasper's panini press. Jasper, previously unaware that he owned a panini press, went back to bed.

He'd considered some Muffilatos after the third day of Atlas tugging his appliances out with metallic shrieks, but it occurred to him that Rudolph could move silently then. Too much danger. In the end he'd started getting up earlier and spending some extra time in the shop. Might as well make some money if he couldn't sleep. His nights had been rather quiet lately anyhow; he was afraid to bring models home with an errant skeleton and an errant Caedmon about the house.

Getting to the shop earlier meant that he could actually justify a lunch break, so Jasper ventured upstairs during the early afternoon lull. He'd not heard as much screeching and clomping from upstairs, maybe Atlas had decided to read today instead of switching his oven over to nuclear fusion power. It did, as promised, make cooking times shorter. Unfortunately it also turned everything to charcoal by the time you finished closing the oven door.

Mounting the stairs, Jasper pondered if bellinis were only for brunch, or if they could carry over to lunch. Hopefully Atlas hadn't 'modified' his cocktail shaker. He entered the kitchen to find Atlas furtively buttoning up the sleeve of the agnes b. shirt Jasper had left in his closet. The skin of his face looked almost as pale and unhealthy as that of his arm, which was shortly concealed by expertly draped fabric. There was a heavy pause as Jasper's eyes drifted briefly to the pile of ruined bandages on the table, then Jasper cleared his throat and turned away, digging in the cupboard for a box from Honeycutt's.

"I want to go out." Atlas' voice sounded tired; it snuck through occasionally even though he tried incredibly hard to be positive. Jasper was amazed what a good face he'd put on over the last few days; he couldn't imagine how profoundly horrible Atlas' life must have seemed at the moment. He'd been sneaking out to pressure the Ministry workers to hurry up about SHOP, but so far they were taking their bureaucratic time, despite Will's orders to prioritize the project.

"Not in the alley. Somewhere else...Dixons. That's a place right?"

"Er, sure. There's one 'round the corner from the secret door across from Holland Park." Jasper had no idea what was in a Dixons, but if it would cheer Atlas up he could spare an hour or two. Plus he'd never met a shopping opportunity he didn't like. "I had Cal phone up once if they had the new Armani Privé collection and they said no, but maybe they've improved their selection since then."

He finally located the box and selected a cupcake, then offered it to Atlas. "Pastry? Daphne brought them over this morning."

Jasper stood in the door for a moment and then, tactful and graceful as he sometimes choose to be he made a low sound in his throat, more filler for the empty air than meaningful, and then turned to open one of the cabinets. Thankful that he hadn't pressed or made some useless ludacris platitude about discussing it, Atlas took the moments of Jasper's rummaging to collect himself.

He searched for a location they might go to, running through all the strange names Muggle's called things and had come up with Dixons. He wasn't really sure what they sold there but he had seen a fair number of them about. They must sell something useful. So he suggested it and waited for Jasper's response. It came a moment later, muffled behind the polished hard wood of the cabinet that Jasper was still reaching into. Er, sure. Another span of silence, filled only by the sound of cardboard and Jars being pushed around. Jasper's kitchen didn't have much in the way of food, or it hadn't until Rudolph had taken to do doing shopping trips four times a week. As far as Atlas remembered that cabinet receiving Jasper's attentions held his massive supply of martini olives. Olives and other garnishes that might be useful.

That morning Atlas had also discovered a jar of cherries suspended in some sort of delectable sugary solution. He'd wanted to make a good Singapore sling right then and there but then he had remembered the modifications he had performed on the blender the previous evening and had simply replaced them in the cabinet sullenly.

There's one 'round the corner from the secret door across from Holland Park. Brilliant, it would mean that there would be no need to go through the alley. Atlas still hadn't quiet worked himself up to looking over Jasper's back gate. He'd almost made it the other day. He'd been in the yard supervising a pony ride for Rudolph while Jasper was minding the shop and had been tempted for a moment to reach up and peak over the fence. Then with a squealed, 'we're all going to die' Rudolph had fallen from Pinkie and scattered across the garden.

Jasper really didn't like coming out in the garden for supplies and stumbling over hip bones and so Atlas had diligently gathered them up. All except for one femur; Pinkie had snatched it up and Atlas had found that he didn't have the heart to take it from her.

I had Cal phone up once to ask if they had the new Armani Prive collection and they said no, but maybe they've improved their selection since then. It would appear that Jasper had discovered whatever it was he had been searching for and Atlas was pleased to see the pink polka dotted package that was a tell tale sign of something from Daphne. Pastry? Daphne brought them over this morning.
Nodding, he reached for the cupcake and held it in the palm of his hand, looking it over carefully. Perfectly spread frosting, a few perfect sprinkles and a slight scent of raspberry. Holding it up to the level of his nose he inhaled deeply and then licked the top of it. “Tastes normal....this isn't some zero calorie cup cake trickery created just for your hips is it?” He took a tentative nibble, still holding the pastry with two hands.

Jasper was reaching one hand toward the closest tumbler and Atlas waited until his hands were almost on it before piping up. “I'm not sure I would use that one, its been modified into a mop-n-chop. Unless you were planning to puree something you might want to use the silver one you have on the other counter.”

Edging back toward the table Atlas scooped up the remains of his work from earlier and after a moment of searching located the empty garbage can and deposited them into it. He liked the cup cake again. “Right...thats done, when do we leave? Can I have a buck's fizz before we go?”

Atlas accepted a cupcake and, unthinkably, licked it. Jasper was appalled. There were extremely specific ways to enjoy Daphne's cupcakes. Eating the frosting alone spoiled the delicate frosting/cake ratio, which Daphne assured him was the route to maximum deliciousness. He wanted to point this out, but Atlas was looking a bit too shaken for criticism. Plus he'd always been one for unusual eating habits; he'd insisted on examining their food for "signs of tampering" every day for the first three years at Hogwarts. Jasper initially suspected that the behavior had been prompted by a certain overprotective Mrs. Christie, but later discovered from Atlas' mother that he did the same thing at home.

“Tastes normal....this isn't some zero calorie cup cake trickery created just for your hips is it?”

Jasper sighed. Refuse borscht once at Atlas' house and instantly you're anorexic. Just because he'd used the excuse that he needed to fit into a new YSL dinner jacket. He took another bite of his cupcake and searched for a glass. An afternoon drink was necessary before shopping in Muggle London. Especially if one was venturing into the dangers that lay outside Savile Row.

“I'm not sure I would use that one, its been modified into a mop-n-chop. Unless you were planning to puree something you might want to use the silver one you have on the other counter.”

Jasper slammed down the tumbler with panicky speed. Atlas had gotten bored in the last couple of days and started making "helpful" modifications to various kitchen appliances. In most cases Jasper didn't especially care. He didn't know how to turn on the oven anyway, and wasn't precisely sure what a 'sundry board' was, so he didn't care that it no longer performed its previous function. But things had gotten a bit harrowing when Atlas started work on the fridge and had taped a note to the door reminding Jasper not to reach inside the freezer when it was set to Beta-3 phase, because that was "absolute zero, suitable for many advanced chemistry experiments." Last night he'd turned Jasper's third favorite martini glass into a "chip n' dip." Jasper recalled that his mother had received such an item from a well-meaning Muggle neighbor when they moved to London. She and his father had stared at it for days, unable to discern its purpose, and concluded that perhaps the woman was a bit simple.

"Atlas, I don't know what a mop-n-chop is, but I maintain a strict rule that there must be nothing in my home which can be named with a single 'n' as a connecting word unless it is 'Jasper-n-current Vogue covergirl." He pushed the tumbler across the counter. "Turn it back."

Atlas busied himself throwing away the crumpled bandage before turning back to Jasper, who had successfully made a drink in a glass that wasn't going to 'slice-n-dice-shake-n-bake' him.

“Right...thats done, when do we leave? Can I have a buck's fizz before we go?”

In light of Atlas' traumatic experiences, Jasper had relaxed his No Ridiculous Drinks rule substantially in the past few days. He'd been forced to make countless Moscow Mules, Savoy Corpse Revivers, Lime Rickeys, and Harvey Wallbangers. Jasper, who believed that drinks need not include anything that couldn't be found in a martini, was profoundly disturbed by the contamination of his cocktail glasses. He flicked his wand severely and the drink appeared. He handed it over with a scowl.

"Drink it while we walk."

They made their way through the tunnel that led from Jasper's house to the back entrance in Kensington, clambering over the stack of pillows that constituted a landing pad when you dropped in from the street. For getting up there was a ladder that led into the back of a curry shop. There could have been more convenient places to surface, but Jasper sometimes felt in the mood for some popadums before he ventured out. Today was not such a day, and they ducked out the back door and around the corner onto a busy street.

Dixon's was just next door and Jasper stopped to look in the window. There was a confusing array of signs promising '52" LCD SCREENS!' and 'BLU-RAY.' Whatever this stuff was, they were certainly enthusiastic about it. He paused, hand on door handle.

"What are you shopping for anyway?" He glanced down at the now empty glass in the other man's hand, reached for it, and snapped his fingers so it vanished. "By the way, I'm cutting you off soon, your reign of cocktail terror is coming to an end. And if you ever ask me for a Fuzzy Navel in my own home again--" here he fixed Atlas with a stern look-- "the next drink you're getting is a Shirley Temple."

As Atlas continued to prod at the cupcake, dissecting the various layers to reach the delicious raspberry center he heard a noise not unlike the loud bang of a gunshot. He had told Jasper that he should go about installing a home security system but he had never imagined that he would be taken up on it. It seemed however that it was not to be because when he turned his attention the Jasper all he saw was a tumbler, rolling on its side and then Jasper who was standing like a small animal looking for an escape rout.

Now really, he had said ‘mop-n-chop’ not ‘fryalator’ or ‘ginzu dismember magic 2000’, had Japser placed his fingers directly under the object he would have lost one, at the most. Fingers were relatively easy to magically reattach and it was a small price to pay for the ability to chop perfect ham cubes with nearly zero effort.

Atlas, I don't know what a mop-n-chop is, but I maintain a strict rule that there must be nothing in my home which can be named with a single 'n' as a connecting word unless it is 'Jasper-n-current Vogue covergirl.

Now it was Atlas’ turn to roll his eyes, which only got about halfway before he understood the euphemism. At that point he scowled and took another few licks of his cupcake savoring the flavor and doing his best to ignore the smug look that stole over Jasper’s face. A moment later the mop-n- chop rolled into his side as he rested against the counter top. Turn it back.

“But ham cubes!” It was a losing battle; Jasper would never appreciate those small food based wonders, despite years of Atlas trying to change his mind. A moment of fiddling found his wand, a lucky survivor of the explosion. Jasper had recovered it from the precarious wreckage before the Ministry could find it to take it in as evidence. In many ways Jasper’s talents for feeling out different magical traces rendered him as something similar to a large mountainous rescue dog. All he would need was a little barrel under his chin and the image would be complete. Lose a leaky potion? Bring in Jasper and let him rummage uninterrupted for a quarter of an hour and it would be found. Jasper seemed particularly attempt at finding wands, an item Atlas had misplaced a disturbing amount of times both while in school and out.

After he had disposed of the bandages he went about morphing the object in question back to its original form, consoled by the fact that he had a full container of ham cubes and diced carrots in the fridge for later. While he did so Jasper worked some magic of his own, expertly mixing drinks first for himself and then for Atlas. Atlas’ was more of a violent flourish but the act did a better job of mixing the beverage.

Drink it while we walk. Ignoring the scowl Atlas crammed the rest of the cup cake into his mouth and plodded along behind Jasper as he strode away. He snagged his cane on the way out into the tunnel, charming it to a more manageable size and hoping he wouldn’t have cause to use it. No more than 10 minutes later they popped up like strange urban moles onto the streets of London.



Atlas sipped at his drink and looked at the skyline, the impossibly high buildings and the oddly dressed muggles bustling around. He didn’t look long, keeping his eyes on Jasper was important. The man had a chameleon like ability to blend in with his environment and if you lost him there was little hope you’d find him again. The rest of the day or night would be speant peaking into record stores or plodding around clubs and pubs looking for him. Occasionally it was a good challenge, right at the moment Atlas didn’t think he had the energy.

Jasper stopped and Atlas almost collided with him. Both of them stood observing the signs in the large class window, both looking equally puzzled. What are you shopping for anyway? Jasper asked with a certain level of trepidation that often leaked into his voice when he felt he had been roped into something. Atlas shrugged in a way that wasn’t at all reassuring to Jasper who continued a moment later. By the way, I'm cutting you off soon, your reign of cocktail terror is coming to an end. And if you ever ask me for a Fuzzy Navel in my own home again— Atlas looked away from the images of muggle in peril on one of the screens, the next drink you’re getting is a Shirley Temple.

Atlas felt the hairs on his arm stand up on end while at the same time he glanced behind him, a habitual gesture when Shirley was invoked. “That’s not funny,” He hissed at him, careful to keep his voice down lest some of the muggles be agents for the desolate one. “I almost died a week and a half ago, she knows I’m too weak to hold off a major attack. Shirley Temples are the way that they implant nanites in your blood. Little spies….it starts with a few simple cute cocktails, next thing you know you’re tap dancing with an old hotel manager with curls in your hair and a song on your lips.”

His voice had risen during the course of the rant and a woman exciting the store, one mittened hand holding onto a small child’s at her side glanced at both him and Jasper. “Well it’s true.” He muttered as he pushed past the pair and entered the store proper. A man in a uniform approached them, grinning from ear to ear. Atlas didn’t really see what there was to be so happy about.

“Can I help you gentleman with anything today?”

Jasper, still concerned that there might be stray 'ham cubes' lurking somewhere in his once pristine home, managed to tune out the Shirley rant. He could fill in the blanks anyhow. A bit about the end of the world here, demonic possession there. He gave it a couple of minutes then looked up mildly. Echoes of conspiracy floated vaguely around them as they perused the windows a moment longer, then Atlas took the initiative and pushed his way inside, past a woman in a deeply unfortunate parka. Jasper trailed along behind, still trying to sort out what a Dixon's sold, precisely.

Inside, the place was a veritable warehouse of confusion. Jasper recognized a few things, like the televisions of various sizes displayed along the back wall and the bank of computers that resembled the one Cal owned. Others were less obvious-- largish plastic boxes that occasionally made sounds like they were choking then spit out pages of writing, and other boxes that subsequently destroyed the newly made pages. The back section of the store housed several rows of those movie discs that Cal insisted one needed if one wanted to watch something. Jasper normally just pointed his wand at the tv and whatever he requested started up. Normally that was To Catch a Thief. Cal had once brought over a box set of Cary Grant discs and seemed dismayed when Jasper was less than enthralled. He was even more annoyed when Jasper later told him that Pinkie thought they were excellent frisbees, although he sometimes had problems with Apollo leaping the fence and making off with them when one caught the sun the wrong way.

“Can I help you gentleman with anything today?”

They had paused in front of a massive flatscreen television, Atlas musing about why one would need such a gigantic thing and Jasper wondering if A: it would fit in the den and B: if it would impress models. While distracted, a man in a red shirt had appeared with alarming speed. He was clad in a red shirt with Dixon's emblazoned on the pocket. A nametag identified him as "Gary: Sales Associate." Jasper could see that the shirt was a polyblend. Which made the fact that the man was smiling giddily quite confusing. Jasper had never been anything but miserable when making contact with synthetic fibers. His mother had trained him up properly to avoid and possibly destroy them on sight. Needless to say, his first encounter with Atlas' wardrobe upon their arrival at Hogwarts had been something akin to the Somme in terms of casualties.

The man continued to beam at them, hands behind his back in the poised picture of helpfulness. Jasper didn't think it would seem normal to ask for help in identifying what sort of shop this was, so he glanced meaningfully back at the tv. A small sign to the side told him that it had a 72" screen. That was rubbish, models would never be impressed. He was certain he'd seen a more impressive one on that show that was occasionally on Cal's telly after the one about the vapid young American women where celebrities showed off their (often mediocre, significantly inferior to Jasper's) homes.

"Well, I'm looking for a new telly and I was wondering if you had anything, you know, a bit bigger?" He gestured expansively.

The gleam faded a bit in the man's smile, replaced with a look of mild confusion.

"I'm afraid this is the largest model we have in stock, sir. But it does have the capacity for--"

The man went off on a long excursion down the road of abbreviations and technical terms that Jasper wasn't interested in. What he mainly wanted to know was whether or not he could watch North By Northwest on a screen the size of a minor Eastern European country. Gary seemed to be telling him no. How tiresome. He glanced over at Atlas somewhere during the brochure about "plasma screens" and the other man's eyes were glazing. This was why Muglle appliances were so dreadful, there were so many bits to figure out that Jasper couldn't muster the energy to care about.

"You're sure there's not a larger one?" Gary nodded dolefully. Jasper sighed. "I'll have this one then, I suppose. Better make it two."

Gary's eyes lit up like Jasper in a club full of models, or Atlas in a room full of tinfoil caps. Jasper resisted the urge to pat him on the head as he trailed behind them as he and Atlas moved forward, spouting off lists of accessories that Jasper might like to go with his new tv.

They paused in front of the box that seemed to be like a paper version of the dreaded mop-n-chop. Jasper regarded it carefully.

"What's the point of this exactly?" Directed at Gary.

"It's a shredder, sir. For sensitive documents."

That sounded bloody useful, actually. Jasper decided it warranted a test run. He plucked the name badge from the salesman's pocket and shoved it into the slot at the top of the box. There was a satisfying whirrrrr and some bits of plastic shot out into the bin below. Brilliant. He grinned. Hours of fun to be had, there. He wondered how it would do on lobster shells and tiny sombreros.

"That's genius. Shall we get one?" Directed at Atlas.

He turned more fully toward Atlas. "Was there something specific you were looking for, mate? Will told me one time that there was a thing that sharpened pencils for you automatically, that Michael had one. I kind of wanted to know if that was just a myth, but if you had something else in mind--"

Atlas eyes went first to the nametag and then to the unsettling facsimile of a smile that seemed to have been stapled on to the man’s face. Staples because the flash of tight lips and white teeth ended on either side with alarmingly defined dimples. Unnaturally so, he searched his brain for any possible connections between excessive dimples and the aliens who had been responsible for the construction of the Grand Canyon but all that came up was dimples and unfortunate genetics. As in most cases where other human beings were involved he decided that it might be a good idea to let Jasper take the lead in communicating with ‘Gary’, if that was his real name.

Jasper seemed to take Atlas' silence as his cue to strike up some sort of conversation with the creature preening and attempting to be helpful but even looked a bit cautious. Maybe he had noticed the dimples too, as it was difficult for anyone with less than 20/400 vision to do so, or maybe he had examined the weave of the shirt and found it not at all to his liking. Whatever Jasper's initial hesitation had been he got over it rather quickly switching gears and proceeding to ask several questions concerning the massive row of televisions behind them. While Jasper spoke Atlas took the time to turn and examine them. Something about them seemed entirely wrong to him, first of all they were all showing the same program, which alternated between pictures of dessert wildlife and images of marine wildlife. Repeated over and over. He wondered if they had the ability to play anything else. Jasper's personality wasn't really one that lent itself to meditative images of turtles swimming majestically or cool breezes blowing dust about and so Atlas didn't see why he was energetically pursuing owning one of these creatures.

His grandmother had a television that appeared to only play old episodes of something called "One Life to Live", full of Muggles doing odd things, hanging around ceaselessly on beaches (that didn't appear to be there), constantly murdering one another and then coming back from the dead. He'd never seen anything else on that particular set and had decided at a young age that that was all that was available. Gary and Jasper continued their exchange while Atlas glanced around the store. There was a humming in the air, a strange kind of white noise that seemed to be ever present around electronic devices. hE Saw Jasper beginning to make his way down another one of the aisles, Gary following behind like a yapping hound, and he made his way after them.

Gary paused to take a breath and Jasper paused to look at the small box with a large sign under it labeled "display unit only". Whats the point of this exactly?

Atlas took the time to look around it, several odd buttons on the top and then a small slot, not particularly large, there was another opening at the front with a pile of massacred paper lying beneath it. It's a shredder, sir. For sensitive documents. Gary was quickly relieved of his name card and a moment later the shredder made a horrific noise before vomiting out the remains. Gary's dimples disappeared and he looked positively dismayed by his sudden loss of identity. Reaching out he plucked the capital "g" from his own lapel and offered it back to Gary. "It's alright. Why don't you go to the back, I'm sure there are some more spare names you could pick up there. Jasper's also going to need one of those coaxial cables you mentioned." he glanced at Jasper who seemed to be gleefully imagining all the things he could do with the shredder in his arsenal. "Go on." He ushered Gary off with a few more furtive shooing motions and then stepped up to the machine.

"This strikes me as something else that will more likely than not join the rest of your office equipment in a life of dust collecting and neglect. That having been said however it does seem like it would be therapeutic. Slots not very big though...." He poked at it with one pointer finger. "With a little modification I bet it could shred just around anything. Might even be able to have it double as a mulcher and a puree o matic. Unless you have an aversion to things with "o" in the middle. I'm failing to come up with any clever euphemisms for that one."

The look Jasper was giving him was one that spoke the following words very clearly, 'you have managed to ruin something for me that I once thought was beautiful to me'; this, as he took a acreful step back from the object as if Atlas might have planted it here and then lured Jasper into it. Searching around for something else that might draw interest Atlas's eyes landed on a pair of muggle children in front of another television loaded down with smaller versions of guitars. The television was emitting a version of "I wanna hold your hand", the Beatles, brilliant!

Ignoring Jasper he stalked over in that direction, approaching slowly and then a bit faster when he confirmed that they were holding guitars, stringless tiny guitars. He leaned closer to one of the boys, who glanced up at him nervously. "You need something mate?"

"Yes, actually, could inform me how exactly this stringless string instrument works? And is their any correlation between the movements of your fingers on it and the color coding on the screen there? If you were to install a few strings you might be able to free yourself of the burden and eye strain that constant starring might be placeing on your pupils. Also, I read somewhere that some people in the America's believe the Beatles to be the harbringers of Satan. Are you properly protected?"