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Rhapsody directed her to sit in one of the wing chairs while she prepared the tea, and Jasmine twiddled her thumbs and eyed her colorless environment, trying not to shiver. Oh, what she’d give for a bucket of paint and a few brightly woven Indian blankets. Naughty thoughts of redecoration schemes involving stuffed moose heads, loud slip covers and a few busts of Elvis kept her occupied until Rhapsody returned with the tea tray bearing unadorned white china. Come to think of it, she was wearing white today as well.

I bet I can guess your favorite color, Jasmine thought, biting her tongue so she wouldn’t say it. She might have grown up a hooligan, but she still had a healthy respect for her elders. “Thank you,” she said instead, accepting the scalding cup of tea and setting it on her saucer to cool. “So what’s on your mind?” she inquired as Rhapsody made herself comfortable in the chair opposite the tea table.