Bob paced the hallway, the new floorboards creaking with each agonising march to and from the far wall. He ran his fingers through his messy 'fro, the bed having shaped him into something akin to an arrow. He muttered to himself in a less than hushed tone when suddenly, a nearby door opened.

"Bob... What's the problem, man? It's 3AM, we've got a busy day tomorrow... And you're here pacing the hallway while I'm tryna read myself to sleep. What's the issue, Bob?" SaintJimmy showed concern, quizzing his old friend.

Bob stopped, his face completely empty of expression. He took a deep breath, followed by a sigh and a short sentence, "I don't like the name." Jimmy's face grew confused as Bob fleeted out of view, Jimmy shaking his head and closing his door to continue his efforts to sleep, hopeful for more success without Bob's noise to disturb him.

--

An hour had passed since Bob ran from his new HQ in search of some clarity. He'd equipped himself with nothing but his pocket notepad and two pencils - his time served had taught Bob to be prepared and two pencils was the least he could do to ready himself for the mental torment he had to come. He'd already been up most of the night stressing about it, now was about time he came to a decision once and for all. He'd found himself in the middle of a field a mile or two from their new home in Old City District. It was a field like any other - grass for miles, sheep, trees and even a typical flock of birds were seen to be scouting the area. Bob always loved to take some time out and appreciate nature, especially when he was equipped with drawing equipment.

He'd sat for so long, light had began to creep through the trees. Mindlessly scribbling away in his pad, Bob had lost sight of the mountain of work there was to be done and found himself blissfully lost in his art. His brain however, was still churning as fast as ever trying to make a decision.

"AH! .... No."

Another idea quickly cast aside.

He sighed, grunted and continued his drawing. The pencil whistled against his pad as the perfect lines formed under his gentle touch, slowly piecing together one well-defined stroke at a time, quickly growing to become a masterpiece. Quicker than he could even take the point of his pencil away from the paper, his creation came to life, jumping out and smacking him square in the face.

"TREES!" He exclaimed, jumping to his feet.

Now, it was obvious to him.

"Happy Little Trees."

Bob grinned down at his pocket pad. His drawing was finished. The decision was made (really made, this time).

'Happy Little Trees' was their name.