Ah, the song of the South. Or, sound, rather. "Is that a Guthrie I hear?" Alison didn't move. She probably couldn't have - or at least enough to get up and crane around to see who was actually greeting her. She raised a pink-nail polished hand into the air and gave a less-than-half-hearted wave before it dropped again at her side. The voice wasn't deep or twangy enough to be Sam. "Jay?"