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Donnie slumps in his seat as the L rockets towards downtown Chicago. He has his feet up, modest sneakers and faded jeans with a jeans jacket that has a writhing chinese style dragon on the back. He seems lost in his own thoughts, staring at his shoelaces, but he has Sylvia's hand in his, buried in the pocket of his jeans jacket.

There's something bubbling on his mind, but he can't seem to spit it out yet.

Today was to be a Fun Date Day, and they planned to meander downtown, feed the pigeons, and giggle over the sex books in one of the Powell's bookstores, in between searching for wierd and rare books for Donnie and Mitzi's collections. They might take in a show. Nothing set in stone.

It's one of those equilibrium things.  When Donnie seems troubled and quiet, Sylvia feels an obligation toward logorrhea.  She's looking at the strip of advertisements that runs the length of their El car, browsing placards full of sunny places and smiling people in business suits.  The one right over their heads seems to hold special fascination for her.  It's a cherry red Mini Cooper driving somewhere warm, colorful, and California-like.

"Hey, did you ever see the remake of the Italian Job, with Mark Wahlberg and Charlize Theron?"

Donnie blinks, drawn from his shell. "Wicked car chase. I totally wanted one of those mini coopers after watching that."

She looks at him, leaning back on the headrest with as much loose ease as if they were on a couch in her living room.  "That was totally cool, with all the power turns and the weaving.  I wish I could drive like that.  Hell, I wish I could drive."  She pauses and squints skeptically.  "I don't know what for, though.  I mean, where would I go?"  And because that was almost rhetorical, she continues in the same breath.  "Are you going to go for your license when you turn sixteen?"

"Hell yeah. It's only a matter of time before some jag-off with a camera phone gets a nice pick of me atop one of my dragons, then I'm screwed." Jag-off. Donnie is experimenting with his Sopranoes lexicon. Next he'll be wanting proscuitto. "I might guilt my parents into getting one for me. If dad isn't in jail for money laundering or something."

Sylvia rolls her eyes in the process of turning away from the soft-focus cityscape behind the Mini Cooper in the ad and the reality of their complicated lives.  "We really gotta do something about that.  Your dad is in trouble."  She frowns a little, looking worried for this guy who's given Donnie so much grief.  "You could ask him about it."

"He'd lie. He's a big fat liar. I don't trust him to tell the truth, and he'd never tell it to me. He lies every day when he lays down in his marriage bed, knowing he had sex with another woman earlier that day. One of these days, he's goning to be caught in his made-up world of lies. And his whole world will fall apart." Donnie scowls back at his shoelaces. "Then it will be 'Hello cardboard box! Welcome home!"

Sylvia gauges him before she says, gently, "Emo much?"  She waits for the potential backlash, willing in some self-sacrificial way to get him angry with her instead of his father.  Then she proceeds with caution.

"Do you want that to happen to him?  I mean, really?  'Cause if you're angry with him, I understand your wanting to hurt him, but we have to prioritize.  That's what Carolyn always tells me.  Get him out of his rough spot first and then have your showdown."

Donnie grins quickly. "I have to grow my hair out first, dye it black, and start wearing mascara."


"I don't know. I keep juggling it back and forth. Do I want to save him? Is he doing this to protect me? Then I remember he cheats on my mom, lies to us all the time, has never been there for me growing up. It's a difficult choice."

"We're good guys, right?  Protect the weak?  Help the helpless?  'Cause if you want to start letting people hang because they're flawed human beings, we might as well rob a bank and move to Mexico."

Donnie seems to ponder for a moment, tapping his chin with one finger, then shakes his head. "Nah. I can't speak spanish. Language Arts is next year. If I'm not living in a cardboard box."

"My point is that, I dunno, we should do something.  And if you're not going to ask your dad about what's going on, then you have to let me read him.  He could be in serious trouble.  Like guns and ski-mask trouble.  Like not a cardboard box but a casket trouble.  You get what I mean?"  She looks worried.  "Even though he's kind of a bastard, I'd feel bad about that.  We have to do something."

Donnie purses his lips. "Maybe we could ask Colin to draw the faces of the two men he saw in his vision, and ask Chris about them or something."  He adjusts his laces, then drops his feet to the floor. He leans over closer to Sylvia, a serious look on his face and says quietly "Sylvia, I don't want you looking in his head, okay? My dad is evidently the kind of guy Caroline worries about; a walking penis. If you look into his head and see sexual thoughts towards you, I will have to kill him. Or let one of my dragons eat him. He's a bastard, and I am glad I am nothing like him."

He leans back, looking at the mini cooper ad. "Maybe Smith could do it. I don't care if he sees what is in my father's head."

Smith is sitting on the opposite side of the aisle.  Sylvia is the only one that can see him, and she's certain he's not really there.  Is he serious?  He'd kill his own father for having sexual thoughts about you?  Does he think you'd be dumb enough to tell him if you did see that in his father's head?

Sylvia wears a wry expression.  "If there's one thing I've learned since tuning into WPSI, it's that guys think sexual thoughts about everything.  Pretty girls, ugly girls, pretty guys, the family dog, whips, ropes, glue, pep squad uniforms, Kim Possible. . . .

"It wouldn't bother me if your dad were thinking sexual thoughts about me.  Not unless he were a stalker or a pedophile.  It'd be just normal."


Well, hello there, Sylvia says, glancing his way.  No kidding, huh?  She stops a second.  Would you do it?  Poke around a little, let us know what the deal is with Donnie's dad and the guys who're messing with him?

Sure.  But only because you haven't freaked out about my arrival.  Does he need to be medically sound after my visit?

Please keep casualties to a minimum.  The goal here is to save this guy's life, right?  Why do I have to keep reminding people about that?  Then she pauses.  You know, since you bring it up, why are you here?

There is a trip mine in your head.  Every time I'm mentioned it goes off.  It's in the event you get into a jam because of me.  The people that want me dead are just the type to try to get to me through you.

Someday you're going to have to tell me a little more about these people who want you dead.  I mean, it should go both ways, right?  What if you're in trouble?  How am I going to save you?  Or, you know, how am I going to find somebody else to save you?

Smith looks at her for a minute.  Okay, I can do that for you.  Some other time.  Then he's gone like he was never there, because he never was.

Donnie's brow furrows. "It would bother me. Look, I guess it's a bit of my possessiveness that's leaking through. My other side has some very firect thoughts on personal claims, you know? If someone were to pursue you, like ask you on dates or email you lovenotes, I'd have a hard time not knocking his block off. You're my girl. I'm totally stuck on you, and the thought of some pervy man thinking those things about you makes my blood boil."

Donnie explains this all in a low calm voice. Not a hint of green in his eyes.

"Fair enough," Sylvia says, finding that Donnie's rationale makes a crazy kind of sense.  "It's a moot point.  I asked--"  She pauses, not wanting to set off the tripwire again.  "--somebody to look into it for us.  Don't know how long he'll take, and I hope you won't be too disappointed that I told him not to do any permanent damage."

"Groovy. This Smith guy is a little scary. I mean, you can talk to him from across the city whenever you want? Is that his power or yours?"

Sylvia winces.  "Dangit.  Mind not saying his name if you can help it?

"I know he can do it, and I've never tried.  I don't think I can, though.  I'm just starting to get a handle on this thing."

She shifts in her seat.  Public transportation isn't often designed for comfort.  "I've been thinking about the future.  You've got your thing.  Colin's got his thing.  I've got no thing, just this stuff going on in my head, and looking at--"  She catches herself.  "--Mr. Über, I'm not sure you ever reach a point at which you don't feel like putting your head in a hole and hiding from the world.  I mean, you've got Arkham.  Colin's got his imaginary buddies.  I have Sm--Übermann, but not forever.  Am I going to be like him?  Is there something else I can do with my life?"  Heavy thoughts.  This has obviously been simmering away on Sylvia's back burner for a long time.

"BeetlejuiceBeetlejuiceBeetlejuice." He says, a mystical smile on his face.


"Why not pretend to be a real girl? Not that you aren't all woman, vavavoom, but plan to attend college, get a degree, find a way to use your talents in a subtle and positive way? Psychology. Crime scene investigations. Police detective. Omega Squad. Gamma Squad. Secret Service. You are subtle. Your powers are subtle. Dragons are not." He rests his head on her shoulder, rocking with the motion of the elevated train.

"You really like those old movies, don't you?"


Sylvia touches his glinting golden hair.  She's mentioned once or twice how envious she is of his hair.  "Yeah, that's probably where I'm going someday.  Police work.  Costumed superhero.  Phone psychic.  Sometimes I think about writing to the Avengers and asking how you get a job with them, but I don't think they'd take me seriously.  Not now.  Maybe when I'm a junior."  She looks at the passing scenery.  "Mr. Über's been telling me stories about the bad guys who recruited him and how they're still looking for him.  I'd like to know what a guy like him would have to hide from.  And I'd like to know how they found him in the first place.  I'd like to know some other people like us and how they live their lives."

She leans her cheek against his head.  "Colin was talking about trying to find my birth parents.  You think they might be like me?  If they were, why would they give me up?  Are there lots of us?"

Donnie feels drowsy in the sun coming through the windows and the heady fragrance of Sylvia. He almost purrs, but it's a deeper rumble in his chest, easily masked by the roll and pitch of the train. "You'd, uh, have to learn chinese, right? To research over there? China is still kind of quiet on their superhero scene. Don't let much get past the borders." He's silent for a moment. "Does Ginny want to know? One thing I never asked because it seemed kind of rude to do so, but are her parents and your parents the same? I know that some agencies try to keep siblings together, but you were adopted as a baby, right?"

"Right.  When I was six months old or so.  Ginny is about a year older than I am, and we don't know if we're related.  I kind of doubt it.  She's so tall and fair and curvy, and I'm kind of like, you know, the Danny DeVito twin."  She thinks it through.  "I'm not sure even Mitzi and Carolyn know.  The one time I asked, Mitzi said, 'Of course she's your sister,' like I was questioning something that shouldn't be questioned.  I'm sure she's not a relation by blood," Sylvia says upon further reflection, "but at the same time it's nice to think she might be."

"You are far hotter that Danny Devito. That dude is like, old. How can you honestly call yourself the Ugly twin? You insult me. I pursued you because you were all kinds of sexay. The fact you beat me three times out of five on trivia games hasn't dulled your hotness, nor has the fact you talk to Beetlejuice and look like you're going all space-cadet when you do so. I half expect a drop of drool to trickle down when you lose track of time. Total Hotness. You just need to learn to let the weight of the world off of your shoulders for a while. It's heavy, and will give you premature wrinkles. I don't want to date a raisin."

Donnie chatters happily, head resting on his girlfriend's shoulder and eyes closed, his fingers tracing imaginary lines of Sylvia's face and features in the air. He seems totally unaware his motions are leaving sparkly trails of half formed magic hanging in the air for the briefest of seconds, like fireworks nearly spent.

"Althea would fly us to the ends of the earth if we asked. She's a puppy. She loves to fly, and the opportunity to hunt wild game here is intoxicating to all the dragons." HE opens his eyes and realizes what he has wroght, waving his hands through the air and making the sparkling outline of Sylvia disappear. He sits up and looks around to make sure no one is paying attention. "If you ate your meat raw, Dylan might be much more interested in you, but I like my proteins nicely caramelized. I swear, the dude keeps pushing the waitresses to make his steak more and more rare at Outback. He's lucky he's so gosh darn good-looking. They practically fall over getting him what he wants. Did I tell you he is super-heroing more and more? Helps him get his aggression out now that the fight club is closed."

He looks out the window to see if they were getting close to their destination.

"Were you into that?  The fight thing?"  She noticed that, for a while, he had more bruises than even sparring with Kel could account for.


They're approaching the stop at which they'll debark.  Sylvia, who's been neglecting some of her homework to research topics having to do with what she's convinced is her future life, wanted to visit the Museum of Holography (http://holographiccenter.com/).  At least that was her justification.  Master illusionist that she's becoming, she still gets a girlish kick out of anything sparkly and colorful.

Donnie smiles slyly. "Rule Number One of Fight Club: You don't talk about Fight Club." He shuts his mouth with a click of teeth and smiles.

He stands up as the train rattles to a stop and offers his hand gallantly to his lady. "Shall we?"

She takes his hand and manages a balletic curtsey before stepping off the train.  "We shall."  But secrets make her crazy, and the less he says about Fight Club, the more she wants to know.  "Were you good?  I mean, did you win more or lose more?"

Donnie projects into her mind one of the fights. Suddenly there's cheering all around, the pounding of blood and his(her) gasping breath. The other fighter is taller, though skinnier. He has blood on his mouth, and is dodging and weaving. His fist shoots out, and Donnie(Sylvia?) feels the explosion of pain in his shoulder as he turns into it. It was the opening he was waiting for though, and an uppercut slams shut his opponent's open mouth and takes him off his feet. The cheering intensifies and people rush forward to keep him from leaping onto his foe, to finish him off. Dylan is there, a vicious and exultant smile on his face as he rubs Donnie's (Sylvia's?) face with a rough towel. He klonks heads with Donnie, slightly, forehead to forehead, and is shouting something, but the vision fades.

Sylvia finds herself sitting on a bench near the exit of the train. It is now just starting to lumber off to the next destination, and she looks over at Donnie, who peers out into the assorted people around them. His arm is close around her though, and there is a small smile on his face. "Won most, thanks to Jack and Dylan's training. I did lose a couple though. More experienced dudes, looking to put me in my place. It's all good though."

He looks at Sylvia out of the corner of his eyes and says. "My ability to project is getting better. Uther thinks that someday I might be able to have entire conversations with others simply by using images and memories. The intense ones are the easiest."

Sylvia tries not to talk about what she can do in public, and telepathy has made keeping secrets easier.  Is that magic?  Is that a spell?  She's ragingly curious.  Is telepathy contagious?  I'm starting to think it is.

Donnie laughs, saying aloud "No, it's just that my memories are becoming more vivid, more clear the more I come into the whole BorderLord thing. I think it's the dragon. They live so in the moment, their emotions are bonfires to our matches. It's allowing me to relive memproes with stunning clarity. Since you and I seem do closely linked, I thought I could share the memory with you. It almost seemed as vivid as one of your waking dreams; your illusions."

"My illusions are just, you know, tricks.  Imagination."  As they make their way down the stairs to the sidewalk, she asks, "Have you ever seen Man Of La Mancha?"

"Nope. That's Don Quixote, right? Wasn't that a movie with Antonio Banderas too?"

They walked arm in arm down the stairway, passing into a tunnel that led up to the street. Donnie and Sylvia's eyes quickly scanned left and right, their instincts for trouble always at the fore. It had become second nature to them. They came up into the busy sidewalk, ignoring the two beggers trying to pester them for change.

"Seriously?  I've never seen that one.  One of Carolyn's friends sang the lead back in San Francisco, so I got to see it.  Anyway, point is:  Don Quixote.  A guy who reinterprets everything around him as something less mundane, more fantastical, more interesting.  He chooses to delude himself, see?  For some reason I was thinking about that last night.  I was thinking about how we could spend a day tilting at windmills."


Sylvia probably stops, hand going to her wallet, before Donnie, cagier about Chicago's hazards, pulls her away.

"Plays? My family doesn't do plays. That would require class. We have none." They walk for a few minutes, then Donnie continues on as if there were no pause in the conversation. "By we, you mean you and me or the Usual Suspects?"

"I was thinking you and me, but it's not like I'd made out a guest list or anything.  It's just, what's been going on lately has made lots of things that used to be cool and fantastic sort of no fun.  You know The Wizard Of Oz?" Of course he knows The Wizard Of Oz.  "I used to like it.  Ginny would cackle and say, 'I'll get you, my pretty, and your little dog, too,' and I used to laugh.  It's not so funny anymore.  Wicked witches aren't funny.  Demons granting wishes aren't funny.  I can't watch horror movies anymore without taking notes on the monsters and their weaknesses.  How's that for tweaked?"

"The movies are a good source for general possible ways to kill monsters. Most have a grain of truth. Of course a lot of it is hogwash perpetrtated to sell novels and penny dreadfuls." They hustle to cross a street as the walk symbol flashes at them to hurry hurry.

"I still think the fantastic is fun. I can do magic. I have dragons who come help me when I call. I have a hot cheerleader for a girlfriend. All of these were fantasies of mine when I was younger. Like, last year." He grins at her. "I know, I know, ex-cheerleader, but you still were one."

"Don't let the negative crap drag you down, Syl. There are still wonders, there is still joy. Love, friendship, making out. All awesome and surprising. Peeking into peoples' heads is no fun, I imagine. It's like getting dragged through the mud with bad people's heads. HAve you spent any time listening to Mitzi and Carolyn? I imagine Mitzi's head filled with joy at life, pride in her daughters, hope for their futures. Carolyn as fiercely protective, territorial, suspicious of strangers but capable and willing to give deep and eternal love and devotion to her mate and her daughters." He was silent for a few minutes, pausing and buying a couple green apples from a street vendor. "That is what is awesome about life."

He takes a bite.

She wrinkles her nose.  "That seems creepy, doesn't it?  I mean, in general what goes on inside your head is the only real privacy you have.  I try not to look unless someone deserves it.  Really I think we human beings aren't meant to know that much about each other."

"Well, we aren't quite human anymore, are we?"

For a moment, green reflects in his eyes, and his smile seems more..predatory. Then he's just Donnie again.

Sylvia usually does a fine job of ignoring Donnie's flickers of weirdness, but that makes her look at him for a long moment.  "I'm human," she says.  "Being superhuman--"  And she has to pause over that word, not liking the taste of it.  "--doesn't make you inhuman."

"Some people, yeah. I don't want to wierd you out or anything, but I am a little inhuman. If I go to the reaches, I will be a dragon when I get there, just as Dylan is human here. For better or worse."

He finishes the apple as they cross the street towards the first store.

"Besides we're talking about your parents here. They are as vanilla as any two happily married gey people could be, right? I have never seen them hate each other, or give each other venemous stares across the kitchen table. Or subtly insult one another, or even be purposely cruel. Your house seems the calm normal one, even though it's called 'non-traditional'.

"Dylan's not all that human," she says.  "Have you looked in his fridge?  Nothing but cold cuts.  Not even any bread or mustard or anything, just a lot of expensive deli meats.  I told him that stuff would kill him, and he just smiled and gobbed this huge wad of roast beef in his mouth, let it dangle for a while, and then slurped it down."


Sylvia shrugs.  "Carolyn once told me she thinks a lot of people feel like they're stuck with their families, but she and Mitzi had to go through a lot to find each other, and they had to go through even more to adopt Ginny and me.  Something about burden versus privilege, I think, but when Carolyn's feeling deep, it's hard to relate."

Donnie makes a face. "Let's just put it this way. If Dylan could get away with having his meat warm, but uncooked, he's be happy. Unfortunately that isn't possible in urban America. He's like an Anti-Mitzi. All leather, meat, and violence. That's a Dragon for you though."

"I think Carolyn likes me. I sometimes wonder if she'd like me better if she could figure me out. I mean, I know she trusts me with you, but I wonder if I was a sports playing jock-type or a car-hound she'd have an easier time catagorizing me. Plus we could have something in common to talk about. Burden vs. privilege. I wonder what she meant by that..

"Do you like Legos?  Carolyn likes Legos.  Did I ever tell you about the Lego city in her old office?  Every year, for Christmas, she'd get Ginny and me an extra present:  Legos.  And we'd play around with them some, but Ginny and I aren't really into that.  So Carolyn would pick them up off the floor once we'd gotten over them and take them to work.

"I didn't really think about them until Carolyn had to take us to work one weekend, and all around the room she had these skyscrapers and sculpted gardens and Grecian temples.  I'm pretty sure I'm getting Legos again this year.  One of the boxes under the tree has that familiar plasticky rattle.

"As for the burden-versus-privilege thing, I dunno.  I guess a lot of people take their families for granted."

Donnie laughs. "Awesome. Now I know what to get Carolyn for Christmas. I have some legos, somewhere. It's been a long time."

"She's got castles and dragons.  I don't know if she's set them up again since we moved."

"Well, I can add to her collection. Maybe she will restore the lego-world when she gets more blocks top play with."

They walk through the crowds and Donnie says (with an abrupt change of subject) "When you were little, and playing with dolls or barbies or whatever, did you play as if the girls had boyfriends or did you mimic what your home was like?"

Sylvia laughs.  "I think almost all girls have more Barbies than Kens, so Ken is really kind of a Barbie accessory.  We'd usually have a tribe of Barbies and like the token Ken who would stand around looking uncomfortable.  Usually the Barbie with the wavy hair would be Mitzi, and the Barbie with the short, curly hair would be Carolyn, but the weirdest bit would be getting Barbie to dress like her.  Mattel doesn't put out a lot of flat-heel loafers."  She pauses thoughtfully.  "Or high heels in Ken size, for that matter.

"What about you?  Do guys ever go through that, or is it all about crashing your Power Rangers together and going, 'Doozh!  Doozh!'?"

Donnie laughs. "For me it was dinosaurs, totally. I had these tribes and these stories of the history of the tribes, and the conflicts that they had. Important dinos died, only to be replaced by their sons and daughters, which swore vengence on the murdering tribe. It was all very complicated, and I am pretty sure I managed to remember them all. It pissed my dad off to no end that I was not interested in cars. He got me car modelling kits that just sat in my closet."

"Your dad doesn't look like the car type.  You know, not like the get-your-hands-dirty type.  Is he into fixing cars himself, or does he just, um, crash them together and go, 'Doozh!  Doozh!'?"

"He's more into the status symbol of a nice car. He's never changed the oil himself, but he pays money to have people keep his cars in good shape. He has a '79 camaro that he keeps in storage some place and takes it out to car shows, but he's not much of a hands-on person when it comes to repairs. He's more of a collector. Heck, he might have more cars i don't know about. He's still pissed off about the ice-cream cone I spilled on the camaro's passenger seat when I was ten. I haven't been in it since."

Sylvia frowns a little, regretful for them both.  "Carolyn's kind of into cars.  More into motorcycles.  She always talks about getting Ginny and me our motorcycle licenses and us going out for a cross-country ride, and Mitzi gives her this look like 'Oh my god.'  But my uncles in Tennessee are whiz-bang mechanics, the kind of guys who always have grease-stained rags in their back pockets.

"You think your dad will buy you a great car?"

Donnie shrugs. "I don't know. Depends if he's in jail or not by the time I'm 16. We might be living in a cardboard box by then. Who knows? It depends what beetlejuice finds out about Dad." Donnie grins to show he's just joking.

"I can ride bitch behind you on your Harley."

She laughs long and loud.  "You might look good in black leather, something sleeveless with a big dragon tatt curling up your arm."

Donnie rubs his bare chin. "Now only if I could grow something on my face and look scruffy.."

She reaches up to his head and tosses her fingers through his hair.  "There.  Scruffy."

They reach the museum, and Sylvia makes a point of picking up the tickets.  The place is one-half exhibition, one-half gift shop, full of twinkling, spinning holograms set within fixtures of jewel-box black.  It's not terribly academic, this place, but it was someplace to go on a Saturday afternoon--an excuse to hold hands and chill out.  "Do your parents ever take you traveling?"

"When I was younger, and when they were happier. My mom kind of repudated her family, but dad has a brother in New Hampshire, and i have a few cousins, all older than me. I haven't seen them since I was about seven though. Dad and Uncle Denny got into a big argument over something at Grampa's funeral and they haven't spoken since."

He shakes his head ruefully. "Man, I am just a barrel of laughs aren't I? At least Mom and her dad are talking again, even if it is stiffly. Maybe i can get him to come visit us again. he owes me some books."

"What books?" Sylvia asks.

"Histories, mainly. Magical studies. Stuff not normally available through ebay or the Miskatonic U bookstore. I haven't checked in a month though. maybe he's sent me something. He set up a box at the UPS Store over on North Marion so my mom wouldn't intercept his mailings to me like she used to. We can check on the way back home. if you want."

"This time of year?"  Sylvia gives Donnie a dubious squint.  "We should pick up some iron rations and a ten-foot pole."  Only a few months, and she has this gamer-girlfriend thing down.

Donnie giggles, sneaking a kiss at the wry smile on her mouth. "Ill make a geek of you yet, my pretty." He spins a shimmering five foot sculpture, sending rays of light sparkling around the room and reflecting off the many different holographic surfaces.

He bends down at a short sculpture, looking over his shoulder. "Help me Obi-Wan Kenobi, you're my only hope!"  

Sylvia giggles, then says, "You know, I never really got Star Wars.  Not the way other people seem to.  Are you a serious fan?"

"I'm not a fanatic about it, like Sarah, Greg, or Dave, but I loved the old movies and thought the newer ones were pretty neat. I didn't hate them as much as the others, but I am easy to please when it comes to movies. No, I still think Jurrasic Park is one of the best movies of all time and am one of the few people that actually really enjoyed Dragonheart. Hmm, now that I think about it, I ought to show it to Dylan. He'd probably think it's hilarious."

"I don't know," Sylvia says.  "Even dragons must want to be like Sean Connery."