"So...where are we going this time?" Papillon asked as they hit the main road out of Ramblewood.

"It's a surprise!" Chaim told her with a grin.

"Let me guess then - Budapest!" Papillon replied.

"Nope," Chaim hummed at her with that same grin that seemed to get slightly wider at her answer, "Good guess, though. Nice memory."

"So, where are we going?" Papillon asked again.

"It's a surprise! I told you that!" Chaim chastised her, "I'm not telling you where we are going until we get there."

"So we're going to drive all the way there, hmm? I can just read the road signs and figure it out," Papillon pointed out with a victorious grin.

"We're not driving," Chaim informed her.

"We're not?" Papillon asked, slightly confused.

"We're flying!" Chaim enthused, grinning like a little kid who'd just gotten an awesome present, "It's too far to drive."

"Awesome," Papillon replied sarcastically.

"Yes. Yes it is awesome," Chaim responded as if she hadn't been sarcastic, "I like flying."

"Okay, anyway," Papillon decided to change the topic of conversation because she could feel that it was starting to get redundant, "How long is this car ride we're going to take?"

"Fairly long," Chaim supplied, "We have to go to the airport."

"Are you going to whistle again?" Papillon demanded.

"Depends," Chaim answered easily, "Are you going to put an Ipod on or not?"

"What do you mean, 'an Ipod'? Don't you mean 'the Ipod'?" Papillon asked.

"No, I mean 'an Ipod'," Chaim replied.

"So there's more than one?" Papillon queried.

Chaim nodded. "Yes - two. One for me and one for you," she responded, humming slightly.

"And how are we supposed to tell them apart?" Papillon demanded.

"Shouldn't you find them first?" Chaim asked with wide eyes.

"Yeah, probably," Papillon ceded before opening up the glove box. When they weren't in there, she immediately went for the arm rest between the two front seats, where she pulled out an Ipod of the style that preceded the Ipod Touch and an Ipod Nano in purple. She held them in her hands and looked at them. "So, which one's mine?" she asked Chaim again, "I've found them now."

"The smaller one's yours," Chaim replied simply.

"You mean that you actually own 160 gigabytes of music?" Papillon asked, her voice making obvious her disbelief.

"No," Chaim answered.

"Yeah, I thought so," Papillon continued in a sarcastic voice.

"I've got like a terabyte," Chaim finished just after Papillon's remark, "I change out the music on my Ipod weekly."

Papillon looked down at the Ipods she was holding. "Uh, what's on my Ipod?" she wanted to know.

Chaim shrugged, "Some of my favorite stuff. You know, some Jay-Z, some Chopin, a couple of Tegan and Sarah songs, the best of Stavesacre, a sampling of Metric, that kind of thing."

At Chaim's answer, Papillon began scrolling through the Nano. Just like Chaim's answer, she recognized maybe one artist out of four. "Chaim, I don't know who most of these people are," she admitted, "Who's BoA?"

"A really good artist from Korea," Chaim supplied, "She can dance really well." Chaim glanced at Papillon's face, which was displaying confusion, before reaching into one of the cup-holders and pulling out a wire. "Here," she offered Papillon the wire, "Plug it in and put her on."

Papillon plugged in the Ipod and hit play for a song called 'Scream'. With everything else she'd gleaned about Chaim, she was tired of guessing about her likes and dislikes, her wants and desires. Chaim, as a whole, was almost completely mystifying. Almost. But when one got close, like Papillon was doing now, one could begin to see the patterns and could begin to unravel her mysteries. Or, at least, some of her mysteries. Papillon still knew nothing about Chaim's past, and she doubted she would learn anything from merely watching.

The song was definitely geared towards the mainstream market, but Chaim smiled as it came on and hummed a bit to it. She cocked her head slightly after a bit and listened carefully for a few moments. "'Eat You Up' is my favorite," she said, "And I prefer her Asian stuff. This is mainly to break into the American market, but I like it anyway. I like her voice. It's pretty."

Papillon shook her head and settled down in her seat with one foot on the dash. This was going to be one long -

"Don't sit like that!" Chaim suddenly admonished, "It's dangerous! What if we get into an accident?"

Papillon turned her head to look at Chaim. "It's okay, really," Papillon comforted her.

"Why is it okay?" Chaim demanded, face screwed up in something akin to fear and worry.

"My sitting like this is a sign that I trust you and your driving," Papillon explained, "I trust you enough not to get into an accident. Besides, if we were ever going to get into an accident, you would be the one instigating it and you would tell me before it happened, giving me enough time to change the way I was sitting to compensate for the accident."

Chaim moved her head from side to side as she took in Papillon's answer. "Okay," she conceded, "Please sit up now."

"Alright, fine," Papillon muttered, managing to sit up right before Marek's silver Mercedes came perilously close to the side of their own car. He would have hit them, too, if not for the fact that Chaim had seen him coming and smoothly changed gears before accelerating away from him. Any other time, Papillon would have said that the Mercedes would always win, but this was Chaim's car, and she'd been in that Camry before Chaim had exploded it.

"What the hell is he doing?" Papillon demanded, turning around in her seat to watch Marek's Mercedes, which was now in the distance.

"Throwing a hissy fit," Chaim shrugged, "He's not happy about the car situation."

"He's not happy about having a Mercedes?" Papillon asked, scrunching her eyebrows together in confusion.

"No," Chaim cheerfully corrected, "He's unhappy about having Edward in his Mercedes."

"Why would it matter who is riding with him and who is riding with you?" Papillon continued her questioning.

"Marek is trying to build up the mission's story," Chaim answered, "And part of that is who is riding with who."

"This why he came over to the car before we left," Papillon deduced, "Why didn't you just go along with that, and build up the mission?"

"The mission hasn't started yet," Chaim informed her, "so it doesn't really matter."

"Is he going to try and hit us again?" Papillon asked, looking around for Marek's car.

"He would, but he can't," Chaim told her with a happy little hum, "This car's faster than the one he's driving. So we're going to beat him to the airport!"

"And why is that a good thing?" Papillon retorted.

"Because then we get to pick our seats first!" Chaim responded, "There's only one window seat, and I want it!" Chaim paused, and then looked at Papillon's bewildered face. She smiled - well, grinned at Papillon in an almost reassuring matter. "You can have the seat next to mine!"

"Won't that piss off Marek more?" Papillon asked, staring out of the window at, well, trees.

Chaim shrugged. "I guess," she said nonchalantly, "You can slouch now."

"Slouch?" Papillon turned her gaze to Chaim, her eyes convening her confusion.

"Yeah, you know, this," Chaim said as she slid down in her seat and put her foot on the steering wheel, as she couldn't quite reach the dashboard. Somehow, during this, Chaim managed to change gears and keep the car on the road at a fairly regular speed. After glancing in Papillon's direction to make sure she had the general idea, Chaim returned to a much more normal position for driving. After recovering from the shock (and fear that they were going to have a repeat of the original ride to Ramblewood), Papillon did, indeed, put her foot up on the dashboard and sink down in her chair.

The song on the Ipod changed into something that Papillon again didn't know, so she turned to Chaim to ask about it. However, Chaim answered her question before she could open her mouth.

"It's 'Dear Miami' by Roisin Murphy," Chaim told her simply, "I think it's hilarious. Wait for the chorus." So Papillon waited for the chorus, completely unprepared for when Chaim started to sing along. "Dear Miami, you're the first to go, disappearing under melting snow," Chaim intoned, turning to Papillon with a grin, "Each and everyone turn a critical eye to the burning sun, and try not to cry." Chaim shook her head and turned back to the road. "Any artist that can use global warming for a song is a good artist," she finished with a sharp nod.

Papillon grinned back at her, for perhaps the first time, and the rest of the ride to the airport passed in much the same way.