Clay tilted his head as he looked up at the giant wall with its iron gate as he walked onto the mansion grounds. He wore one of his many suits, smart, well tailored with a matching hat and polished shoes. The scarf and sunglasses he wore as a disguise were missing exposing him for what he really was. Clay didn’t see the need in this place and guess it wouldn’t be appreciated. The skeleton had found that, weirdly, people like to see who was walking up their drives. His head turned slightly looking at the cameras in plain sight. And then turned and waved cheerfully at a concealed one. He turned back and continued up the driveway. “Well so far I'm impressed. Nice place, good security... It looks peaceful.”

“Appearances can be deceiving.” The woman walking a half inch above the ground beside him grumbled. “This is a hotbed of vigilante activity. These so called X-Men should learn to let the police get on with their jobs and stop interfering.” She kicked at the gravel and huffed with annoyance as her boot passed right through it. “You should have come armed. Mutant or not they wont want people snooping around their base.”

Clay sighed. “Call, this place is primarily a school and a refuge for mutants who have no other place to turn. Both are admirable traits, and if the X-Men have their base here... Well to my knowledge that’s never actually been officially proven. Despite the fact that its pretty much an open secret.”

“Yer, but-”

“And you of all people should know that sometimes you need mutants to deal with mutant problems. Not everything is as simple as the law makes it out to be Call. Besides, they work with the police, not against them. Their a force for good and change, the right kind of change.”

“Then why did you take this case Stark? If you have so much faith in these people why did you come at all? You could have just sent me or someone else. You didn’t need to set foot within a mile of this place.” Call had stopped walking and was eyeing the skeleton with a mix of annoyance and curiosity. She still floated a beside him as he walked despite standing still. Her crossed arms didn’t quite cover the bloodstain that covered the front of dark top.

“Three words Miss. Call, thoroughness, curiosity and professionalism.”

“That’s Detective Call to you Mister Stark. We've been over this. Just because I'm dead it doesn’t mean I'm not a detective any more.”

Clay stopped at the front door waving a hand in apology and understanding as he looked around. “Will you please just look? I'm going to have a walk around, see if I can find someone to talk too.”

Call huffed, muttered something unintelligible, more than likely rude directed at her friend and then faded to grey and drifted through the front door.

The skeleton shook his head in amusement, stuck his hands in his pockets and causally walked around to the gardens. He started to whistle a jaunty tune, quite the feat for someone without lips or breath to blow through them. Biology was something to ignore and laugh about later.

It was a fairly uneventful day. No work, no training, and no real plans, so Evelyn had gathered up her sketchbooks, some art supplies and taken to the mansion grounds to relax. It had been awhile since she really just enjoyed the scenery, but she quickly settled into sketching some flowers near the front of the building. She had been there maybe an hour, paper filled with detail, when the echoes caught the sound of talking and movement.

Talking...with only one person in site.

That was odd, to say the least. While there were a variety of powers at the mansion, talking to yourself wasn't common. It was what made her own battle with the echoes look so silly at time. Turning her head just slightly, she watched the figure, and realized something else.

It was a skeleton.

It was a skeleton talking to himself.

It was rude to stare, but she found herself turning anyway squinting at his face. There were no emotions there, no echoes, nothing to tell her what he was thinking or what he had been doing or why he was talking to himself. The only things she could go on were the suit, the nice outfit, shoes, and general classy disposition. Forcing herself to be more polite, she stood and straightened her skirt, nodding his way. "Need any help?" She asked.

Well, it was a start.

The detective mused on the Mansion and its occupants as he walked around whistling. He causally scanned the area for more cameras and to simply look around. The gardens were beautiful. He stopped and just gazing at the gardens and remembering Hyde park before the blitz. They had been beautiful too and it had been wonderful to run around and explore them as a kid. Children should have a garden like this to run around and play in. He nodded to himself, satisfied.

"Need any help?"

Clay spun around taken by surprise by the voice. His head tilted ever so slightly into curiosity as his eyeless gaze swept over her without blinking or faltering. He took in all the details. Long hair almost white, layered clothing, polite tone and adjusting her skirts. Probably nervous, so would he if he'd just met a dead person. No obvious mutation but that didn't mean anything.

Clays head tilted to a slightly different angle in amusement. "Ahh sorry Miss, I was in a world of my own there." His stuck out a gloved hand to shake. "Clayton Stark, private investigator, living skeleton and famously awful chef. Its a pleasure to meet you Miss...?"

It was odd, having someone read her while she tried to read them. Normally, things worked the other way around. But she had never tried to analyze a skeleton before. [Head tilt. Amusement? Curiosity?] The echoes struggled to learn his body language. While it was not impossible to eventually make sense of the stranger, at the moment, he was a blank canvas slowly painting in the details.

"I'm Evelyn. Evelyn Summers. Pleasure to meet you Mr. Stark. I..." She took the hand, feeling the bony texture beneath the fabric of the glove, before releasing it and stepping back. She bit her tongue glancing back at the gate where he had been, then shaking her head. She'd let it go. If he seemed to be acting odd again, the echoes would note it. She hoped. "You have quite an interesting mutation. I have to admit my artistic side is impressed. You don't see many skeletons holding themselves together without muscles and ligaments." She mused. She stared at his neck for a moment before realizing how rude she was being and pushing it aside.

"I can't imagine what an investigator would want to do around here." She remarked with faint curiosity. She was pretty sure if there was anything big, the echoes would have picked up on it. Although, if they were anything like the skeleton man, maybe they just couldn't read it yet.

"I can't imagine what an investigator would want to do around here."

His head tilted subconsciously to disappointment for a fraction of a second when she stepped away. But when back to amusement when he caught her looking at his neck. Normally his scarf covered it but since he wasn't wearing anything to cover it up it was glaringly obvious that it wasn't only his skull that was skeletal. "Ahh sorry," He clenched his hand and then placed them both in his pockets. "Sometimes I forget. Its like shaking hands with a glove full of sticks isn't it."

Then he shrugged and waved her comment away with his hand. "An investigator? Oh nothing really. I'm just curious." He lent forward, head tilting curiously. "Did you know that your eyes change colour? Its only a slight change for a fraction of a second and not all the time. Its rather striking."

Clay straightened and glanced at her collection of sketchbooks. "Your an artist?". He pulled his hands back out of his pockets and pulled off a glove. He spread his fingers and wiggled them. The tip of his thumb detached and he winced ever so slightly. Clay rolled it across his fingers like a coin trick. It went all the way around until it reached his thumb again where it popped back in place like two magnets clicking together. The skeleton chuckled and when he spoke his smile was evident in his voice if not on his expressionless skull. "Lets swap. I'll tell you how it works if you tell my why your eyes shift colours."

>>"Its like shaking hands with a glove full of sticks isn't it."

"It's different..." Evelyn nodded, but then shrugged her shoulders. "But I've met people with claws, fur, feathers and scales so I think I'm getting used to the variety of hand shakes."

>>Curious... The word echoes in her head and in his voice. It was always strange for someone else to do something just because they were 'curious'. She laughed aloud at that answer, and smirked somewhat ruefully. "I apologize, but I've probably used that phrase one too many times myself. Everyone told me it would get me killed. Luckily, you don't seem to have that problem." She hoped he could tell she was being good natured enough with the comment. Her social tact was still lacking at times, and it was hard to read his reactions to things. Was this a head tilt of sadness, curiosity, amusement...they all looked and read the same to her.

As the remark came up about her eyes, her smile returned though. "Ah, yeah, they do that sometimes. But few people notice so I usually forget about it. Even in a world of mutants people are quick to dismiss things as tricks in the light." She shrugged, and tucked her sketchbooks against her side. "I'd like to think I'm an artist, and I guess you could say it's a hobby. About as much of a hobby though as most people would consider breathing...Not sure life would be the same without it." There was another slip. She blinked and continued on before he took insult. Was he insulted?

The echoes memorized the pattern on his scarf. His face has been surprisingly uninformative.

Attention slipped down to his fingers, and then his....thumb....was....The echoes won this time, and she stared, trying to understand how it was possible. [No logical connections between bones. Possible force holding together--] It started rattling off ideas, and Evelyn punted the term mutant at them to get them to quiet down. Really, they needed to learn some things just weren't logical.

"I'm afraid the swap of information isn't exactly informative. My eyes change colors because of my powers. Now, the better trade would be just asking what they are....your powers, and mine." She smiled and readjusted her notebook.

“Well they say curiosity killed the cat. Not me though, my ego killed me. Well that and a disreputable chap who was against the idea of being incarcerated.” Clay shook his head and chuckled. “Curiosity is an admirable trait, if nobody was curious then nothing would get done and life would be far less interesting. And its a shame so few people notice your eyes. But I suppose people take things for granted sometimes. Like eyelids.” He sighed wistfully and idly tapped the edge of an eye socket. “I really miss eyelids, they were great.”

The skeleton chuckled again when she blinked after her social misdemeanor She was actually taking the whole living dead thing rather well all in all. Most people were either white as a sheet or running in the other direction by now. Or shooting him, he shouldn’t forget that reaction. “Look, Miss. Summers, I'm dead. Its OK to point that fact out, try not to be too uncomfortable about it. I had the same reaction for the first few months. I mean try looking in a mirror and seeing a skull ginning back at you. The first few weeks I nearly jumped out of my skin every time I passed by a reflective surface.” He cocked his head and laughed. “Or I would have if I still had skin.”

Clay looked up as his thumb clicked back into place. Her eyes had flashed again and she'd paused for a fraction of a second as though listening to something. What? He glanced around surreptitiously scanning for any ghosts in the area. None. She wasn’t wearing any obvious communication gear. Psychic powers then? No. His mind was all he had left, he knew it well enough to sense anyone trying to read his thoughts. He dismissed it for now but kept a metaphorical eye out for it.

“OK let us trade what we can do then” He said. Clay swept his hat of his head and bowed formally. “My name, as you know, is Clayton Stark, formally of Scotland Yard and formally alive and kicking. I had lungs, a heart, miles of nerves and a face. Rather a good face if I do say so myself, some called it ruggedly handsome but I don’t like to boast.” He lied.

“I was killed on the eighth of August nineteen fifty-three. I would like to say it was a dark and stormy night, but actually it was mid-afternoon and only a little drizzly.” He straightened and looked at her penetratingly. “My mutation, from what I can gather simply wont allow me to move on to where ever it is souls go. I was trapped on earth as...” He paused and rocked his head from sided to side considering. “Well not a ghost. Something less than a ghost. Anyway, eventually I managed to pull enough of my mind back together and I was able to sense my body again. I was drawn to it like a magnet. And unfortunately it was not in quite the condition I'd left it in.”

Clay spread his arms wide, displaying himself. “I'm in essence a spirit possessing my own body. I keep it together using a constant effort of will. I can see, hear and all that but I've lost my ability to sleep and eat. Its unfortunate but its better than wandering around for another fifty-eight years without one.” He chuckled. “Life goes on Miss. Summers, you take the hand you are dealt and try to make a difference in the world with the time you are given.”

The detective placed his hat back on his head. “There.” He spoke with a smile in his voice. “There's a little of my power and a little of my story. Your turn~”

The silver-haired female never heard curiosity being regarded in a positive light before. Or, at least not recently. Everyone who talked about her curiosity saw it as a flaw, something that would get her landed in trouble. But wandering around sewers and getting kidnapped didn't always help that assumption.

Her eyelids suddenly itched a little. She rubbed a fist across her eye as he continued speaking.

"I admit, I'm glad you're ok with it. I have an uncanny ability to speak without thinking. Too much information can get you in trouble. People don't like when you point out the wrong things..." Being dead was probably one of the more obvious issues.

Clayton's history was fairly eventful. It made her feel young, suddenly, and her own powers didn't seem so bad. Being trapped in your dead body was probably a curse and a gift. But that seemed to be how most mutations were. She dipped her head in understanding as she returned a story of her own.

"People used to call me Holmes. Never did get into the detective side of things but everyone seemed to think I would have had a natural tendency for it. I'm hyper-observant, I guess you could say. There are... echoes, in my head, as I've sort of decided to call them. Everything has 'echoes' of information I can hear and process. Well, some things have more than others. You, lacking facial expressions and most of your body language, don't have many echoes. It certainly presents a challenge to figure out what you're thinking. Makes me realize what everyone else deals with." She considered it for a moment, before continuing. "I've always had the echoes, but when I turned 13 my powers adapted. Ever since then I've been unable to forget. Every event in my life, never fades. I also get the lovely experience of reliving memories in my sleep, so that can be a trip. I am probably one of the few people around here you'll find up and about at night. Don't like to sleep." It seemed odd admitting that to a skeleton. She was pretty sure skeletons wouldn't need to sleep.

"My family was pretty well-off, but they were also pretty anti-mutant. They were determined to find a 'cure' for what I was, and to ignore my problem the rest of the time. Grew up with a bodyguard, really didn't get a chance to embrace my mutation until I came to the mansion here. It's been a few months, but I guess I like it. I've been learning to use my powers, stand up for myself, even the casual social tact I'm missing." She flashed a grin then shrugged. "Figure I'll learn to be more of a tactician. In the meantime I just work at a museum and recite facts to tourists because what else would I do with a perfect memory?"

“Homes... That’s a good name.” Clay mused, and ungloved skeletal hand idly stroking his chin as he thought about it. “So basically your subconscious mind has a voice. That’s why you pause for fractions of seconds when your eyes flash, its because your listening to these 'echoes'. So instead of quietly cataloging information your subconscious analyses and gives feedback. Useful. Well, I think its useful. I'd imagine it can get quite annoying, especially in places with a wealth of information. Crowds must be terrible. And I must be really annoying because of the lack of information.”

His voice softened. “And an eidetic memory, coupled with total recall. That brings to mind something a friend asked me once. Are we mutants blessed or cursed with our ability’s? And are we doubly blessed or doubly cursed by the expectations people place upon us to use them correctly? I didn’t know I was a mutant then so I had no idea what he was on about.” Clay sighed and stuck his hand in his pockets. He rocked back on his heels looking out across the gardens thinking. “I guess its something every mutant thinks about at some point. I certainly do anyway.”

The skeleton managed to snap out of it quickly. He pulled his glove back on and casually glanced around for Call. She was still nowhere to be seen. But Clay didn’t really mind, he was comfortably happy talking to Evelyn. The only real contact he'd had with other mutants was under less that ideal circumstances. You don’t generally have time to chat about powers while your trying to arrest somebody. An unfortunate truth.

“I do apologize, that was dangerously close to being philosophical. You'll have to forgive an old skeleton for over thinking things.” Clays head tilted to its amused angle. “Working at a museum is a fantastic vocation. There is nothing better than teaching and teaching history is even better. After all we learn from our mistakes and from the mistakes of history. But you really should consider investigation. You would be good at it and you might even enjoy it. It would certainly exercise your echoes if nothing else.” He took a few steps and offered a bony arm. “In the mean time you can show me around this interesting Mansion and tell me about life here. My curiosity is swelling to the size of my ego and their about to battle it out if one isn’t deflated quickly.”

Clay admittedly had the most analytically observation of what Evelyn's powers were. It was a refreshing viewpoint, especially when most people just considered them 'voices in her head'. He was also fairly observant himself, which was rare and refreshing. Although, it always pointed out what it must be like when she watched and observed others. He was doing the same: putting together clues, understanding the situation. Yet the fact he noted her pauses showed something about them were curious. She wondered about the conversation she hadn't seen. Considering his undead appearance, she was starting to infer on her own.

"I do have to say, you don't strike me as someone who would talk to himself. You don't do it all the time and it feels more like you're talking to someone. I haven't dealt much with the undead though, and considering the echoes can't see them, to my brain they pretty much don't exist. But that seems the most logical source for your conversation. Although, I feel like at this point there is someone who would point out belief in ghosts and mutants don't necessarily go together..." She rambled, then cut herself short. A simple 'are you talking to dead people?' would have probably sufficed, but his talking made her mind embrace the intellectual outlet.

"As for blessed and cursed, most mutants I know share that feeling. Strong predators who are forced to live in seclusion, people who look normal like me but are never going to act normal... I think few of us really get dealt a 'good hand' with powers. Everything has a weakness and a drawback." She shrugged in surrendering agreement.

"And I don't mind a good conversation every once and awhile. I appreciate talking about something more than just what's on t.v. or what I'm doing, which--given all the kids around here--seems to become repetitive after awhile. As for investigation, I think it's always a possibility, but I'm prone to exploring what else I can do with my powers first." She accepted the arm, tucking her notebook against her other side and motioning towards the main entrance. "Easiest place to start is at the beginning. Do you prefer being called a Sir? Clay? Mr. Clayton? Mr. Stark? Since your face has no clues, you'll have to forgive me hunting for information the old fashion way. I'm a bit rusty at it I admit." She appologized.

The detective laughed and allowed himself to be lead to the main entrance. “Oh yes Sir Stark, knight of the realm, saviour of the innocent and all that.” He stopped laughing with a little effort and sighed shaking his head in amusement. “No, you Lady Summers may call me Clay. But only if I may call you Evelyn. And by all means have fun hunting for information the old fashioned way, maybe you'll be able to see how difficult it is for us lumbering unobservant folk. It may even give you an incite into how we process information which in turn with help you in your attempts to be more socially tactful. But what do I know, I'm old and dead.”

He swung the main door open and held it for her. “After you M'lady.” Clay considered what she'd said. He hadn’t known that she'd seen him talking to Call, if he had he would have been a little more subtle about it. But he guessed with a mutation like hers it would have been harder for her 'not' to notice something like that. The skeleton had been considering how to answer her comment about it even as they walked and talked. “Hmm, going back to your previous comment. Your right, I was talking to someone.”

Clay hesitated before continuing, not knowing how much to tell her. “I specialize in solving cold cases. The ones others have given up on, the ones where the evidence has dried up and the leads are almost none existent. These aren’t the only cases I take on but their the ones that give me the most satisfaction. I hardly ever get paid for these cases but they offer my clients a measure of peace. And sometimes it helps them rest. And in return a few do me favours once in a while.” He looked at her with his penetrating eyeless gaze. “I am in a position uniquely suited to that kind of work. I'm sure someone with your intelligence can figure out where I sometimes find my information and why I sometimes talk to myself.”

The detective looked around the inside of the mansion for the first time and whistled. “Most impressive, I was schooled in a church out in the middle of nowhere. This is certainly an improvement but I cant imagine living here. Too big.”

Evelyn couldn't resist the smile that crossed her face. It felt like genuine smiles were rare enough, but Clay had certainly earned one with his demeanor. "Clay it is. And Evelyn works fine. While I may have a little more trouble than normal, I think you can learn a bit from everyone, facial features or not. I bet you tilt your head different depending on what you're thinking....Maybe....maybe not...." She squinted again, but the echoes just were studying clothing again. And his lack of muscles. They were very distracted by the lack of muscles.

"Old and dead might be better than young and foolish. At least you can still accomplish things. I think my biggest fear is just being useless. I mean, I've been at the mansion here for a while now, and everyone can do things like freeze water and walk in mirrors and blow stuff up. I just get to be a know it all. I feel like information is only useful if I learn how to use it right. And I certainly don't think I've mastered that. Social tact is just another thing on my list of things to work on." She shrugged. She still had trouble figuring out what her place was going to be in the world. There were ideas, but still too many possibilities to decide on anything.

"Cold cases seems like a hard think to deal with... at least, it would be for me. Maybe that's part of what keeps me from detective work. I'm always afraid of what I'll see. Seeing people who've been hurt, and hearing the echoes study just how it felt just gives me the chills. I don't think I am quite brave enough to deal with things like that. So the...victims, they help you? That must feel nice at least, being able to do something no one else can." She paused, letting him take in the room, and chuckled slightly.

"I think I got used to the size, but not all the people. I was much more comfortable just being by myself. A room full of people is like trying to read a book with the radio turned up to max...." She admitted.

“Crowds.” Clay nodded still looking around getting a feel for the mansion. “Personally I'm fine with crowds, its nice to blend in every now and again. This may come as a surprise but I tend to stick out a little. I can only assume its due to my height and my sharply defined cheekbones.” His head snapped around and he practical crooned with pleasure when he spoke next. “Oooh is that a library? A library is not a luxury but one of the necessities of life. Onward!” And the skeleton almost pulled off not skipping in excitement as he made his way inside. Almost.

“Now Evelyn take notes.” Clay said in his best mock lectures voice. “When my head is at this angle,” he pointed to his head as he spoke. “It means I'm excited. Wow, lots of books.” Clay managed to drag his eye sockets away from the bookshelves and back to his companion. “Ahh, sorry...” he said a little sheepishly. “I'm a bit of a reader. OK you've mentioned a few times I’m a little lacking in the facial feature department. But due to my vast intelligence and ridiculous amount of free time I have developed a system which I have ingrained into a habit. Different angles of my head corresponded to different emotions, like so.” His head tilted downward fractionally, his hat brim suddenly shadowed his eye sockets and his skull suddenly seemed a lot less friendly. Then his head shot back up and tilted back to excited. “You see? That one was anger. Here I'll show you a few others....” Clay tilted his head too a few different angles listing their corresponding emotions as he did. “There. Was that useful? Are your echoes having an easier time or am I still a dead spot? Pun intended...”

The skeleton walked up to B section and perused. “You've been here a few months right? How does the mansion of the X-Men compare to a normal school?” He asked offhandedly as he dragged a gloved finger across the spines.

>>"This may come as a surprise but I tend to stick out a little. I can only assume its due to my height and my sharply defined cheekbones.”

"Maybe it's just your rugged good looks." Evelyn smiled slightly, and then laughed again as Clay took a detour towards one of her favorite rooms in the mansion. She found herself pulled along, although not unwillingly. "I have to admit, that is the first time I've heard someone nearly as excited as I was to wander through bookshelves." It was a welcome change though. Dragging unwilling parties into bookstores sapped some of the fun of things. Having a willing companion made it more engaging.

She paused, redirecting the echoes from their analysis of nearby novels and watched as Clay demonstrated his head movements. There was a certain personality to them, and she could see why he adapted the technique. Although, it was hard to tell if he was serious about it all... Some problems just would never be solved. "I feel much more informed, thank you. Although, I feel odd admitting that the artist in me things you would be somewhat fascinating to sketch... The echoes... well... they are getting used to the lack of logical connection between your bones." She shrugged and picked up a nearby book, feeling the cover beneath her fingers. It was comforting, whether or not she was actually looking down at it.

As the skeleton wandered on, Evelyn followed behind calmly and shrugged her shoulders a little as he spoke. "I think it's been better than a normal school, at least for me. Although I don't take courses here or anything. I think people are just more open to mutations and receptive. When I was in school I had trouble getting along with people. I guess I became accustomed to just being a know-it-all until I got the chance to be home schooled.... Not that that was necessarily preferable....School in general is something I'm thankful to be done with. It gets repetitive after awhile..." It was hard to hide the twinge of bitterness the subject presented. Not that she was irritated with Clay for asking. Old memories just never lost their sting.

"Maybe it's just your rugged good looks."

“Well those too but like I said before I don’t like to boast” he lied smoothly as he inspected a book before placing it gently back on the shelf. “I always got excited about books, more so now. I don't sleep or eat or anything like that so when I'm not working a case I have a horrendous amount of free time. There’s nothing better than spending a long night curled up on a sofa, reading a good book with something light playing on the record player.” He sighed wistfully and straightened a few books. “I do miss the tea though. Book, record and tea. Now that was a recipe for a relaxing afternoon.”

He cocked his head listening curiously and then laughed. “Do you want to draw me like one of your French girls Evelyn? Gosh, what is a man to think.” He shook his head in amusement and waved a hand. “Sorry, sorry. I managed to get a television hooked up at my apartment the other week. It has a deeveedee player. I managed to figure out how to make it work and one of the first things I viewed was Titanic. Horrific film, but it had its moments. Anyway that was an attempt at a pop culture reference, please try not to hold it against me.” Clay turned all the way around and looked at her. He shrugged. “In all seriousness if you want to draw me feel free. Who am I to stand between an artist, her work and understanding of a highly illogical topic. Do I need to do anything? Should I pose?” He shrugged out of his suit jacket, swung it over one shoulder and stood in the exact same pose as David, though distinctly more clothed and skeletal. Clay stood completely and unnaturally motionless for a few seconds before laughing and breaking the pose.

“I hated school too. Reading, writing, arithmetic and bible stories was all I got though. The teachers were all off fighting. All my police training I picked up as a runner for the MP's before the war ended...” Clay mused almost to himself as he picked up a computers for dummy’s book. “You can learn a lot from books though. Like...” He flipped through the pages. “How to use the in tor net. I really need to get around to that.” He looked up and cocked his head. “Kids are evil, especially to people they don’t understand. You have a gift for knowledge, which is fantastic. Schools done with and you survived with your sanity. And for what its worth you came through OK.” he snapped the book shut and his smile was in his voice again. “And your social skills aren’t as bad as you think. I mean look, your talking to a skeleton and you haven’t offended me in the least.”