Janis shuddered at the thought of living near such a place. What if they made her stop in for a visit or tea? She couldn't do that, not for all the cocoa beans in South America. It would be like pretending you were O.K. with socializing with a giant talking bat, or a dead person. Those Abbotts better watch their step, because lord knows Janis wasn't about to get all buddy buddy with them. She didn't see herself as a bigot, just set in her ways...lots of very likeable people are set in their ways.
The Abbotts were the kind of people who ate plenty of meat just to spite the low-carb dieters. They were trim and well-tended to, but always made sure to rub a lot of people the wrong way with their bitsy mannerisms. They were all siblings, their parents having suffered horrible concussions and dying painful and dramatic deaths at young ages due to a plane crash in the Bermuda Triangle (the mother) and a wrestling match with a panda (the more adventurous father). None of the children showed evident signs of mourning, although Janis had gathered from the locals that the Abbott parentals were not yet disintigrated in thier graves. They all seemed joyful and jolly and ready to bat, even managing to mix in a load of dry wit and annoying crunchiness. And they all knew exactly who Janis was, even enough for the beginnings of a crush.
This is in reference to the eldest boy Royal. The artist. Royal constantly fantasized about using Janis as his personal muse, like how Gucci and Ralph Lauren do with Kate Moss, except she'd never require money. In the fantasies she only wanted to inspire him, whether it be through conversation or nudity. Janis did not know of this fantasy, and thought Royal a dimwitted homebody, despite her love of lounging in her bed and licking off the last pages of a bittersweet novel.