Squeaksqueaksqueaksqueaksqueakrattlerattlesqueak!

Such were the sounds that approached the Benedict Center one frigid afternoon. The squeaks were made by the loose wheel of a red wagon, the rattles by the objects within it. And the child; oh yes, the child situated in the middle of the wagon, playing with all the neat-looking toys.

"Cal, don't touch that," Inle said for the umpteenth time. She was running late to a shoot, and the "toys" in the wagon were actually various pieces of photo equipment. Her rickety car had broken down once again, so she was forced to cart her things around in this most undignified and hilarious manner. Not that she cared about dignity--she did, however, find her new method of transportation funny. So did Calumet, apparently; the baby delighted in the sensation only a baby could think of as flying.

He frowned as they came to a stop in front of the Center, trying to peer around a lamp to see what, exactly, had caused this pause in his funtime. Inle muttered curses as she tried to pull the wagon through the open door while keeping the door open. The wagon finally succumbed with one loud rattle, obscuring the bell on the door. Calumet blinked and looked around as Inle picked him up and carried him to a couch--the same couch he had met Shauna upon, not that he remembered.

"Hey I'm leaving Cal here don't worry I'll pick him up later thanks bye!" Inle said in a rush, her reverse struggle creating just as much noise as her first one. It probably wasn't the brightest idea to leave Cal there without making sure there was someone to watch him, but...well, Inle wasn't known for her bright ideas.

Calumet stared bemusedly at the door. What the hell had just happened?