Click.

Sanford Clarke was draped over the red couch, the back of his head resting on the carpeted floor, his feet tapping the air above the edge of the backrest. His Coke-bottle glasses kept sliding up his forehead towards the ground no matter how many times he pushed them back onto his pointy nose.

Click.

Over a thousand channels, and nothing on television. Really now, what was the point of being unemployed if you couldn't sit around and watch TV? There had to be something on; it was only 9:30 in the morning. A children's show, music videos; hell, even that infomercial with the guy who cuts shoes would be more interesting than this. Even the weatherman seemed bored, although who could blame him? The weather never changed in Rond� Grunde, not even when other parts of the country were in the middle of monsoon season. He just droned on in that same monotone voice, 'The skies today will be clear and sunny. As usual.'

Click.

Maybe the day seemed so dull because the coffee wasn't ready yet. Anyone who knew Sanford was aware that he couldn't function without at least 3 cups of coffee in his system, and it hadn't even started to drip into the pot from its position over a Bunsen burner. Two kettles for tea joined it; both of which would be added to coffee along with generous amounts of sugar. That monstrosity of a drink was The Author's morning favourite. The man in question sat at the other end of the couch, struggling to keep the newspaper intact as he flipped through it for the comics.

Click.

As Sanford flipped through the French channels (pausing to check out the puppets that were inevitably on at least one station), a wave of curiosity came over him.

Click.

Should he even bother to ask? The Author wasn't exactly the type to give up details about his name� Well, it was a chance to kick him in the head, and even if he didn't get an answer, that would be satisfying enough. Kick.

'Watch it! You'll make me drop the Fashion section, and heaven knows we can't let that happen!' The Author lowered the paper and pouted down at the boy on the floor. 'Did you want something, or were you just attacking me for the thrill of it?'

'Sorry, I forgot how much you need that. And a bit of both. D'you have a middle name?'

'You kicked me for that? Of course I do, you needn't get violent about it.' He raised the paper back up over his face and continued to search for the funnies.

Click.

Sanford gave up trying to keep his glasses on his face and watched the channels flick by as bright flashy blurs. Now he was even more curious. He knew The Author's real name, but that was only a series of unfortunate events and a great deal of stubbornness. Would he be able to find out this new name? Or would it be itching at the back of his mind for the next year?

Click.

'Does Phoebe know it?' he asked, pausing on a food channel that made his stomach rumble. He'd have to make breakfast when the coffee was ready. The Author had known Phoebe for over 15 years, if anyone could tell him, it would be her. Some rustling, then, 'Nope.'

Click.

He hadn't told Phoebe? Damn, there went that idea. The Author had another friend though, didn't he? Sure, he probably wasn't even alive anymore but� "Did that other guy know it? Your friend from before."

Click.

No response.

Click.

Oops. That was a bit of a touchy subject. Sanford grimaced; he probably shouldn't have asked that. He flipped through the news channels quickly. There were never any good reports anyway; he didn't even want to bother. News, news, news, shopping channel, music channel, docu-wait, was that Blindfolded? The Author finally replied as he flipped back to the video on the previous channel.

"No, Odin didn't know it either. No one knows it." He tossed the Arts and Entertainment section on the boy's face. "I'm an international man of mystery, you know that."

"Yeah, yeah, how could I forget?" He pulled the newsprint off his face and threw it back. It sailed not-so-gracefully through the air, did a flip, and nearly landed on him again. Stupid paper.

Click.

He'd missed the end of the song, and some horrible teen idol had taken over the station, droning on about twoo wuv. Well, back to the documentary then. It was on the nesting habits of a bird that sounded remarkably like the girl on the other network. He looked over at the unfocused blur of The Author as the writer muttered to himself about the way the newspaper companies had decided to rearrange the alphabet and started pulling the paper apart section by section. He obviously wasn't going the answer to his question with subtlety, so why not just ask?

"Well, what is it?"

Click.

Oh! It was the vacuum-thingy commercial! How two people could get so excited over sealing food, he could never understand, but he enjoyed their exuberant rambling nonetheless. Over the deafening growl of the product, the woman cheerfully yelled 'This year's model is much more efficient and quiet than last year's!' What was the other one, a tornado?

Click.

"Samuel."

Sanford tried to sit up, but promptly fell back on the floor, all the blood rushing to his head. Note to self: no hanging upside down. He twisted around and put his glasses back on, looking up and frowning at the man behind the paper. He hadn't expected an answer, but certainly not a lie! That wasn't very Author-y, and totally not acceptable before coffee.

"That can't be true, that's way too normal to be part of your name!"

"Thanks, I chose it myself."

"You chose it? I knew it wasn't real!"

"Well, I didn't have one before, and I wanted something that didn't resemble a street sign." The Author sat the paper down and grinned, his sharp canines creating a their usual troubling expression; he gave the impression that he was about to leap off the couch and bite. "I like Samuel even more than Jonathan, don't you?" Sanford rolled his eyes at the mention of his own middle name. The Author referred to him by it on a regular basis, and it was really quite irritating.

"I guess you have a point. But why did you even bother to make one?"

"Hey, I want to be relatively normal. Can't go overdoing the excitement, can we?"

"All right, fine. Fair enough."

Click.

Star Wars! He flicked rapidly away. Chewbacca was creepy; he couldn't bring himself to watch that movie. Maybe something better was back on the music channel. One more question came to mind as he went back, channel by channel, not knowing which of the hundreds was the on he wanted.

"That wasn't hard; why doesn't anyone else know?"

The Author grabbed the paper and walked into the lab as the kettles over the Bunsen burners started to squeal.

"No one else ever asked."

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