<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(255, 255, 255)">Regret, generally, was an alien terrain where Casper was concerned, the breadths of which he seldom occupied. But currently, he felt a mild prick in his conscience that he could only classify as just that: regret. Now that he'd thrown legal implications in there, the kid would surely be suspicious; really, he should have reeled in his obstructive misgivings and spewed a generic greeting like normal folk. <i>Normal folk aren't riddled with paranoia though,</i> he thought to himself, vaguely registering the onslaught of information being directed his way by the boy. But he'd stand his ground until the stranger stated, unequivocally and without a doubt, that he was indeed a mere civilian. Which he did. <i>A friend of Miles? That little shit has friends? </i>Although Casper's expression remained impassive for the most part, he felt all remnants of unease wither as the boy explained himself. Despite his wariness being expunged though, he couldn't help emitting an amused expulsion of air as he laid eyes on that book the boy was carrying. <i>God, what terrible irony. Then again, not really.</i><br/>
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As the boy talked, Casper didn't fail to notice the few figures milling around the neighbouring lawns, one in particular having a good view of both him and the boy. He resided in a regular suburban house, perched on the corner of a regular suburban street; a town where every homeowner often tended to their stark green front lawns, often painted over the cracks in their white picket fences so as to maintain their wholesome exteriors, no matter the cracks of the people who resided inside. If there was ever a wrong side of town, this was altogether the right one. Casper, however, had never purchased a lawn-mower, had never thought to indulge in the mundane pastimes of his fellow homeowners. His front lawn soon became overgrown and entirely unkempt, starkly contrasting with the perfectly trimmed squares of his disapproving neighbours. The grass soon took on a darker shade due to neglect, but the regular rainfalls ensured that it grew tall and limp; the hedges were dense and overgrown; it was, all in all, very ugly. But Casper soon grew proud of this fact, and made sure he took as little care of it as possible, in the hopes that he'd soon have the ugliest lawn in all of Lerwick. In fact, he felt mildly jealous whenever he chanced upon a lawn uglier than his.<br/>
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However, despite the lawn's knack for obscuring the vision of any passer-by, that one particular figure had a nice vantage point and was looking far too intently at him and Miles' friend. <i>Ah, that bitch Tracy. </i>The local oldie who was insistent on prying into anyone else's affairs. Looking back at his guest, Casper realised he'd been asked a question. He offered the kid a half-smile, almost as an apology for his blunt remarks.<br/>
"Nope, I tend to start with first-hand contact," he said swiftly. And, making good his promise, Casper took hold of the boy's - Ash, was it? - wrist, lightly pulling him into the house after he'd opened the door wider. He realised this might indeed be a bit too forward, but he'd wanted to get out of that old bitch's line of sight pronto. He let go of the boy once they were both past the house's threshold, closed the door behind him and locked it. It was only then that he finally turned to Ash, not appreciating at all how tall the kid was. <i>Great, another teen that's at least a foot taller than me.</i> He also considered what he'd just said.<br/>
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"I promise I don't make it a habit to get handsy with minors," he said dryly with another half-smile, feeling like he owed it to the kid to be marginally friendly, at least. "Thanks for coming over. Don't know how he'll complete those assignments, seeing as his wrist fractures will greatly hinder his writing capabilities," he continued coldly, with a slight mocking smirk, not directed at Ash. "But at least the kid's got his priorities in check." He didn't normally make nice with his son's guests, but this one seemed more... mature? He certainly seemed good-humored, so Casper felt he could risk a few crude jokes here and there. He walked further into the house; there was no hallway, just a giant open space as soon as one walked through the front door, and a staircase off to the side. There were two couches arranged in a right-angle where Casper had decided the living room would be, and a wide-screen TV perched on a wooden coffee table. A few more pieces of furniture lay scattered around in an orderly enough arrangement. The place was far from messy, but not perfectly neat either.<br/>
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Despite having occupied the place for many years now, Casper hadn't really bothered to weave personal touches into the house, or to place memorabilia on the table stands, or to frame Miles' school photos. What he had bothered displaying, though, were few very strange and intricately designed articles that he'd acquired from his trips abroad. For example, a sculpture that depicted a slayed Minotaur with his innards spilling over lay on the mantelpiece, the light glinting off of the stone horns. Or a pair of fake teeth that protruded from a weathered old purse stood on the coffee table near the TV. A few more objects, similar in their strangeness and yet all entirely unique, were kept in a storage room upstairs. They simply served as aesthetic pleasure; they weren't a testimony to any wacky lifestyle, weren't displayed for the purpose of representing a peculiar personage. Casper merely liked how they looked. And how they annoyed Miles to no end.<br/>
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Casper headed for the staircase. It had just occurred to him that Ash probably didn't know the nature of Miles' injuries, or perhaps what had happened to him at all. No matter; he'd find out soon enough.<br/>
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"He's upstairs, recuperating. No cameras, no flashing lights. And do keep a distance of at least three feet - he bites." He knew Miles would normally fret about being treated like a zoo animal, but not currently, because he was still scared of his father's silent treatment.</span>