If the casual observer were to see what comes next, they'd likely blink, and rub their eyes -- and then leave, convinced that they were the untimely victims of a blob of mustard or a bit of underdone potato.

Here's what comes next: two people appear where before there was nothing. They fade in -- not from top down, or bottom up. All at once.

Kaylee looks around. Looks up at Simon, who's got his arm through hers -- she needed her hands free to operate the key in the lock. Looks around again.

Over one shoulder she has a long strand of Christmas lights, wound as an explorer would wind a rope for transportation.

It's warm, and it's lovely, and it smells like lilacs -- sweet, and heady.