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“We’re going out drinking.” Odile announces three days after you meet the party, shooting you a scathing look that makes you cringe slightly.
( ! ! ! )
(You don’t actually know why she doesn’t like you, but you’re trying to get over it.)
(You’re on a mission, after all, and Vaugarde’s salvation waits for no-one!)
( . . . )
(Just because you’re on a mission doesn’t mean you want to have a bad time, though.)
(Whatever.)
(It’s fine.)
(You think that avoiding Odile might be easier than trying to make up for the nothing that you did.)
“Oh,” Mirabelle smiles, perking up. “I hope you all have fun! I’ll catch up on some light reading.”
“Any good?” Isabeau asks, before Odile is reaching out to grab his ear and tug him with her towards the door. “Tell me about it later!”
“You know I will!” Mirabelle laughs after them.
She waits until the door fully clicks before settling herself properly on the bed, leaning back against the propped up pillows and folding the quilts over her legs. She pulls out her book and flips it open.
(The cover looks boring. You don’t ask about it.)
(You should try to find something else to do.)
(Your pack bears many secrets. You always seem to forget what’s inside, despite supposedly packing it yourself. It’s fine, though. It’s a nice surprise every time.)
Before you open it, you hear a loud ‘eep!’ behind you.
Pausing, you look over your shoulder at Mirabelle, who is regarding you with wide, shocked eyes.
You grab the brim of your hat and lift it so she can see your frown. “Mirabelle?” You ask. “What’s wrong?”
“O-oh,” she says, shakily, drawing her knees up to her chest and hiding her mouth behind her book’s spine. “N-nothing! I just. . . I wasn’t expecting. . . I forgot you were here!”
( . . . )
“You just. . . you can be so stealthy when you want to be! And I know your outfit is really bright, and it’s probably not supposed to blend in as well as it does, but you! Clearly know how to use it! And you’re so quiet, you never really say. . . A-anyway! Sorry!” Mirabelle hunches more into herself, voice lowering into a whisper. “Sorry. . .”
You blink at her. “It’s fine, Mirabelle. Glad you’re okay.”
“Okay, then. . .” she mumbles. “Well, let me know if you need anything. . .”
(You won’t.)
(Whatever you need, you can get yourself.)
( . . . )
(Huh. Carving tools and wood. You didn’t know you knew how to carve!)
(You guess that now’s as good a time as any to learn.)
(>>)
“–Did you get all of that?” Odile asked, not looking at you even as she talks to you, distractedly flipping through her own journal.
(You try not to let your frustration show on your face.)
(There’s no way normal people are able to remember all of that. There’s no way they don’t need it written down for them.)
(You don’t want to bother her more, but you know it’ll be worse in the long haul when you come back with none of the supplies she wants you to.)
“I’m going to be honest,” you tell her, “I’m going to forget all of those as soon as I get there.”
Odile doesn’t even hesitate, nodding to herself as if you just confirmed a suspicion of hers. You try not to bristle at it. “Of course. My apologies, I forgot that just because I have it written down doesn’t mean everyone else does.”
You relax.
She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small notebook you have never seen her use before (you think, anyway) and scribbles on it quickly. “You know how to read Vaugardian, correct?”
You nod. You’ve been reading the signs easily enough.
(Honestly, you prefer Porerian writing, but you wouldn’t expect Odile to know that.)
(Unless. . . language-ology?)
(You don’t know her well enough to tease her about that. Not the way Isabeau so easily can and does.)
“If you’re uncertain about anything, you can seek one of us out.” Odile informs you, ripping out the page and handing it to you. “Or you can stick with one of us this time. Two hands being better than one and all that.”
(Um???)
(Does she not trust you?)
“I’ve got it.” You reassure. You look down at the list.
(You don’t know what half of these are.)
(It’s fine. You’re sure you’ll figure it out eventually.)
(Vendors usually had a sign next to everything they sold, right? You’ll just compare the letters.)
“Hmm. Alright, then.” Odile offers you a small nod and turns back to her journal. You blink at her for another minute, then turn back towards the direction of the town. You have an hour to collect five things.
(It shouldn’t take that long, right?)
(>>)
“We’re heading downstairs to the tavern.” Isabeau announces, after you’ve known them for a couple days, or a week. Two weeks? “M’dame and I were looking at the drink menu while you were checking us in, Mira, and let me say! They look great!”
“Oh,” Mirabelle smiles, blinking at Isabeau with a look that says she’s not interested in the slightest. “That’s wonderful! Well, I hope the two of you have fun!”
“We will!” Isabeau grins, leaning over to punch Odile’s arm. “Want to see how many hearts we can break today?”
“I’ll break more,” Odile says with a scoff and an eye roll.
(You swallow, trying to find the right words that’ll make you sound kind and a reasonable person and then force them out.) “Remember to hydrate while drinking.”
Odile glances at you, expression irritated.
(By now, you know better. That’s just her face, and she doesn’t actually hate you.)
(Isn’t it nice to know things about people?)
She nods. “Thank you, Siffrin, we will. I’m sure Isabeau will order a large platter of something that he will doubtlessly not finish.”
“So mean, m’dame!” Isabeau sobs with fake tears already glistening at the edges of his eyes. (What a talented actor.) “Just for that, I’ll make sure you don’t get a single crisp.”
“Oh no. Tragic. I can finally eat something healthy.” Odile quips back. She picks up her journal, and gives another nod before they’re hustling out of the room.
Mirabelle sits on the edge of her bed for a long moment, staring at the door, hands teasing the corners of the book, peeling them up and then letting them flip against her fingertips. She stares towards the door for a long moment, biting her lip.
You pull out a stool and perch yourself near the small Crafted fire in the center of the room between the two beds. It’s nice and warm, heating up your face. The rest of your body does not change temperature.
(You don’t remember when you felt comfortable enough to stop wearing your hat, but this small party had wormed their way into your heart rather quickly, haven’t they?)
(Enough for you to shed one of your only layers of protection.)
(Well, they’ll have to work harder than that to get you to take off your cloak in front of them, no matter how confused a look Isabeau gives you when you climb into bed with it on.)
( . . . )
(The fire’s warm, isn’t it? Nice and comfortable.)
(The innkeeper is good at the whole ‘inn keeping’ part.)
(You can appreciate that.)
(Maybe you can find out how to Craft heat like this, too. That would be good. Is heat similar to kinetic energy? Is it similar to your own Speed Craft, somehow?)
Mirabelle’s voice draws you away from the fire. “Siffrin, are you not carving today?” She inquires, frowning when your head turns around so that you can blink at her in confusion. “Or, um. Just. . . are. . . you?”
(You have a vague memory of the feeling of wood between your fingers, the smell of shaved dust in your nose, the slightly painful pressure of metal hitting you.)
(You guess that must mean you were carving something.)
(You wonder if you can find out what you had made.)
“No.” You say instead of voicing any of that out loud.
(You consider telling her you don’t remember carving at all, or that you can’t think of what you would crave, but those are all fleeting thoughts.)
(You don’t tell strangers every random thought that springs to mind, do you?)
(Except she is a little more than a stranger, isn’t she? An acquaintance, maybe? A party member? There’s a word for it, you think.)
“Oh. . . You won’t. . . be bored?” Mirabelle pressures some more.
In response, you frown at her.
(There’s something there.)
(She wants you to do something, wants you to say something, but you don’t have the means with which to decipher it.)
(You want to ask her outright what she wants, but people tend not to like it when you do that.)
“No,” you say carefully. “I shouldn’t be.”
(You’ve never been bored with your own thoughts. They’re the only consistent company you keep. Why would that change now?)
“Okay. . .” Mirabelle continues, eyes darting away for a moment. “It’s just. . . I don’t think I’ll be very good company. I really want to read my book. . .”
(Okay? You knew that already. She always wants to read in the evenings.)
(You’ve noticed that. It’s hard not to notice, actually.)
“Have fun.” You respond.
She frowns, but doesn’t look back at you. Her fingers drum against the book’s cover for a few more minutes. Even while you turn back to your task, you quietly await her to continue the conversation.
She doesn’t. You eventually hear the pages flip, but you don’t turn around.
If she wants something, she should just tell you already. So much easier than this game of social cues.
(>>)
“What do you think they do out there?” You ask either a few days later or the very next day, (you’ve never actually needed to keep track of time before,) pulling the blinds open so you can look out the window. It faces the street so you can see Isabeau and Odile leave, walking onto the cobblestone and turning to the north.
“They drink, Siffrin.” Mirabelle tells you, looking up from her book with a small frown etched onto her features. “It’s. . . kind of the whole point.”
(. . . you know that.)
(It’s not exactly what you meant, but you find it tedious to explain, so you just purse your lips and nod.)
Mirabelle doesn’t turn immediately back to her book. When you look, her eyebrows are creased as she studies you.
(You feel like a new tool under her gaze as she sizes you up, trying to decide if you’re worth adding to your arsenal, or if you’re just another example of new things being cheaply made but expensively bought.)
“Do you want to join them, Siffrin?” she asks, almost irritably, flipping her book shut with an angry fwump.
You think about it for a second, and then shake your head. “No thanks,” you determine. “I’ve tried the whole alcohol thing before.”
Mirabelle frowns at you. “And you don’t like it very much, huh?”
(My brain is too muddled as is,) you don’t say, (why would I get my head even more congested?)
“Just not my thing.” You say instead.
(You let the curtains close and go back to digging through your things.)
(You find a half used vial of hair dye. You wonder who it belongs to.)
“Well, you were partially right, earlier.” Mirabelle says slowly. “I guess you don’t have to drink when you ‘go drinking’. It’s just supposed to be a social thing! You’re hanging out with friends! You can have water or milk or a fruit punch or something! You. . . you don’t need any alcohol, as long as you have good company, right?”
(You guess that makes sense. Maybe that’s why drinking never struck your fancy. After you learned alcohol gives you thicker brain fog, you never had a reason to go back to a pub.)
(If you had people to be social with, friends, would it actually be fun?)
( . . . )
(You pull out a small cleaning kit.)
“Do you want to go drinking?” Mirabelle asks, edited dialogue slipping out as easy as anything.
“No.” You say firmly.
“O-oh? Do you want to. . . say why?”
You shrug. “I don’t have anyone to be social with.”
Mirabelle frowns at you, brows pinching. “That’s not true! You have Isabeau and Madame! I’m sure if you asked, they would be so delighted to have you.”
(Aw, that’s nice, that she thinks they actually want to spend time with you.)
(You also, to be frank, do not care enough to clean off your cloak and hat of vomit tomorrow morning if you’re left handling drunk people.)
(You’ve seen it happen, in some of the more shady towns you’ve visited.)
“I do.” You agree with Mirabelle instead of arguing. “I also have you.”
Mirabelle doesn’t say anything again. You’re starting to get used into the rhythm. You say something, she doesn’t, and then she says a lot of things and you say something that fails to end the conversation. She takes it, and allows you to have just enough time that it’s over, and then she springs it on you again.
(Maybe drunk people would be better than this.)
(You look down at your cloak, mourning its beauty, and then you catch a glimpse of a little splotch of mud near the seam.)
(Now that you’re looking, there’s a lot of little dirty spots all across the hem of the fabric. )
(You’re usually fairly careful with not getting it muddy, but also this group travels at a faster pace than your typical leisurely strolls.)
(You can’t be that surprised that you would end up getting a little dirty.)
(Well, thank the stars for the cleaning kit you found, huh?)
(It’ll work perfectly for maintaining your cloak.)
(You’re so glad past Siffrin or whatever ghost handled your bag that they thought so far ahead.)
(Cleaning off vomit from your things doesn’t sound fun, but mud is just practical. It’s hard for you to get flustered by that when it’s something productive.)
Mirabelle clears her throat nervously. “W-well, as long as you’re having fun, I guess. . .”
You nod.
(Fun is an abstract concept, for beings such as you.)
(But you’re not unhappy, so it’s something.)
You open the cleaning kit, and get to work.
(>>)
“Hey, bud.” Isabeau crouches next to you, and you look up at him, frowning, slightly caught off guard. “M’dame and I bought a pretty great bottle of wine and a small little beer cask last time we were in town!”
Your face transforms, pressed into a smile instead. “Oh! I hope you two have fun. I’ll be here.”
Isabeau shuffles, switching his weight from one leg to the other.
You draw your sharpening stone along the width of your dagger and wait.
(Clearly, that wasn’t all he wanted to say to you.)
(You wonder what else there is? He and Odile are going drinking, but less publicly, you suppose.)
(Oh, is he trying to warn you they’re going to be rowdy? You don’t think there’s enough alcohol content in either to actually get them drunk, especially split two ways. But that depends on how big the beer cask is, too.)
(But, really, what do you know about alcohol?)
“Well, it’s just. . . Um. Yeah, we will have fun, but it’s like. . . it’s pretty heavy, you know? To carry around so much extra stuff. So we were hoping to drink it tonight so we don’t have to worry about it tomorrow, but it’s. . . a lot to drink between two people. And Mira isn’t interested.”
(Overexplaining much? What could he possibly–?)
(Oh?)
(Oh. . . !)
“Oh,” you grin up at him, half lidding your eyes and pressing up your cheeks in the way Isabeau does whenever he teases Mirabelle. “Are you trying to invite me to drink with you?”
Isabeau grins right back (mission success) leaning in so close you can feel his breath on your face. One of you must move, because he’s far enough away that you still have your personal bubble a second later. “Well, if it’s such a bad idea, why do you sound so excited?” Isabeau goaded.
(The idea of sounding excited about something was–)
( . . . )
(Not that foreign, actually.)
(You feel it rising up enough, about plays, about obscure media that mentions the stars, about when you open up your bag and find more wood you don’t remember packing.)
(You get excited.)
(Nobody’s. . . called you out on it before.)
(You can’t let Isabeau win.)
“Please,” you scoff at him, slipping both your dagger and sharpening stone away. “As if I’d slum it up with you two ruffians.”
“As if.” Isabeau grins as he stands up, reaching out a hand for you.
You elect to stand up by yourself, dusting off your cloak. You watch as Isabeau’s hand withdraws, and you say nothing about it.
“Well, let’s not keep the M’dame waiting, huh?” Isabeau grins at you, and you try to imagine Odile actually patiently waiting for anyone.
(The thought is atrocious.)
(You’ll be lucky if she isn’t already sampling the wine by the time you get there.)
On your way from the edge of camp to where the campfire – and Odile – reside, you pass by Mirabelle. She brightens when she sees the two of you walking past the rock she had claimed as her own, shoulders rising in what you know is her own excitement. “Oh! You managed to convince them to join you! That’s amazing.”
“It was easy!” Isabeau brags, hand setting down on your shoulder. Just as quickly as it came, it was gone again. Mirabelle suddenly looks nervous. “They weren’t stingy after all!”
(Stingy. . . ?)
(You don’t know what that means.)
(Oh well. It’s not like you’ll remember to look it up later, anyway.)
“That’s good.” Mirabelle smiles awkwardly at the two of you, her earlier joy long since vanished. “I hope you have fun, then!”
“Mira, it’s a few pals drinking around the fire.” Isabeau says, the very definition of serious. He sounds fictitiously wise. “Of course it’ll be fun.”
(Pals?)
(That one, you know.)
(It means. . . no, no, you’re not close enough with them for that.)
(You’ve barely known them for any time at all, and they don’t know you, either. Realistically, how long has it been? A few days? A few months? Do people make ‘friends’ that quickly?)
(If you knew that it required that little effort from you, you might’ve tried sooner.)
(Or maybe they’re just an odd bunch.)
“You should join us.” Isabeau teases enticingly, wiggling his eyebrows in a way that you know will get him no results.
Mirabelle humors him with a gentle smile and shakes her head. “No thank you. Fun as it would be to deal with a headache tomorrow–”
“We’ll hydrate!”
“That’s not a cure-all.” Miriabelle frets. “Be careful with Siffrin, they’re not an experienced drinker.”
“Hey,” you lamely complain. “I could be. If I wanted to.”
Mirabelle smiles at you, smug and disbelieving.
You get as far as pursing your lips before Isabeau chuckles again and moves a few more steps forward. “Come on, Siffrin. Let’s leave our fair maiden alone, let her enjoy her book.”
( . . . )
(Was that the only reason they invited you? So you wouldn’t bother Mirabelle while she’s reading?)
(You never bother her, do you?)
(You must, if they’re this hard focused on it.)
(Guilt gnaws on your insides.)
(You feel awful.)
You try not to think about it. You’re supposed to be having fun, right?
You’ll apologize to her later. But, one thing at a time.
(>>)
“I’m going to a nearby antique shop.” Odile announces abruptly, not even fully into her room yet. Your fingers pause on your own door knob, and you look back at her, lips pressing into a frown. She looks back at you, and lets her bag fall to the ground just inside the door, and then closes it busily. “This city is known for having all kinds of antiques, after all, and I’d like to see them for myself.”
(Antiques?)
(That word makes your mind tug a little, as if it’s something you should know.)
(Vaugarde probably wouldn’t have anything you’re interested in, but then again, you don’t remember what that would be anyway.)
“Oh,” Mirabelle says distantly, gaze focused on getting her key in the door and jerking it open. Isabeau’s already gone inside his own, door closed. “Um, okay. . . When should we expect you back, Madame?”
“I’m not sure.” Odile responds impatiently. “I might go to multiple, depending on size. I’ll be back before the sun sets, though.”
“You won’t be back for dinner?” Mirabelle presses.
You close your door, barely open a crack, and drop the key back into one of your pockets.
(You hope you remember which one, later.)
“I might go exploring, too.” You determine aloud, turning back to the two women. “Little early to be retiring for the night, huh?”
“I guess that’s true. . .” Mirabelle nods to herself thoughtfully, and you watch as the thought occurs to her and she perks up, smiling at you. “Oh! Does that mean that you two will be together then? Great!”
(That wasn’t your intention!)
You frown at her, glancing at Odile. “No, that–?”
“I wouldn’t mind it, Siffrin. Safety in numbers, after all.” Odile says decisively, finger curling over her chin as she considers you. “The last kingsman that we fought had plenty of henchmen that might still be out for revenge, after all.”
(You weren’t around for that, but you’ve heard stories in passing.)
“You’ll be a nice disguise,” Odile continued. “They might not know to keep an eye out for you quite yet.”
(Oh, yes, that made sense!)
(You can be helpful. It’s not like you’re exploring anything different from her, after all.)
(In fact, with your plan to also seek out antique stores, it probably would’ve been harder to avoid her in the long run.)
(Also you don’t know where any antique stores are yourself. She should, if she was already planning to go looking.)
“Of course, Odile.” You agree, slipping into step alongside her as you both turn to go. Mirabelle seems happy, so you guess that worked out for the better.
“Where are you hoping to go?” Odile asks, sparing you a glance. “Because we can split up if you really want to, but I’d rather we stay in the same area.”
“Also antiques.” You say, avoiding her eyes. Were you not supposed to like the same things she did? You don’t want to risk upsetting her by copying her, after all.
“Good. This will be streamlined, then, and we don’t have to worry about the morality of lying to poor Mirabelle.”
(You weren’t going to lie.)
(Was Odile really planning to do that? You suppose you can’t blame her.)
(You know you’ve done terrible things yourself. When you were younger, you used to. . .)
( . . . )
You blink and nod at Odile. You didn’t want to lie either.
(Isn’t this easier?)
(It’ll be nice to hang out with someone one-on-one.)
(You’re not sure how talkative you’ll be, but Odile has seemed quiet too, for the most part, not usually initiating conversations unless she has a question.)
(You have nothing interesting about you, nothing worth asking about. You’re sure she knows that already.)
“Well, then.” Odile says thoughtfully. “Let’s get going, shall we?”
(That question doesn’t count.)
Matching her step perfectly, you walk out into the sunlit streets with her.
(>>)
(You’re starting to get used to the rhythm.)
(There’s no pattern, from what you can tell, that makes Odile and Isabeau want to go out drinking, though that might just be you.)
(You’re pretty sure it’s not every day, but it’s decently often. Every other day? Three days out of the week, two? Maybe they only drink on weekends.)
(You should do what Odile does and keep a journal. Maybe then you would remember.)
(But even if you can’t predict based on time, you can based on behavior.)
(They get this odd look in their eyes, a little fidgety, unpacking their bags a little faster.)
(Even though you rarely actually pull anything out of your bag, you make sure to be a little quicker about it, too, so they’re not waiting for you. You need to go so you can give Mirabelle space, after all.)
(Maybe that’s why they ‘like’ drinking. Because it leaves Mirabelle alone and she needs time to recharge and destress. She deserves it more than the rest of you do.)
(There’s no way they actually enjoy the taste of alcohol. The beer you had still makes your throat burn just thinking about it. Funny how you can remember disgusting things but not anything you’ve had in the last couple days.)
“We’re going out drinking!” Isabeau says, easily predictable.
(You make sure you have your allotted coin on you.)
(You’ve never had money before, but Odile gives out an allowance when the party has some extra.)
“Oh, I saw the sign for that!” Mirabelle says excitedly. “It’s some kind of dance night, isn’t it?”
“Yeah!” Isabeau enthuses. And then he looks at her, and brightens even more. “Mira! Are you coming with us?!”
(Huh???)
(She could do that???)
“I’m between books right now,” Mirabelle explains lightly, smiling brightly. “And it’s a good day, isn’t it? We’ve made such wonderful progress! With this orb, we’re finally over halfway done!”
“Thrilling news,” Odile manages a smile. “So alcohol is reserved for celebrations and being bored, hmm?”
“Of course, madame.” Mirabelle seriously nods. “I know how to drink responsibly, because I’m not addicted.”
“We aren’t alcoholics!” Isabeau gasps. “We just enjoy being adults doing adult things!”
(Ew. You don’t like how that sounds.)
“To think you think so little of us, Mirabelle. . .” Odile muses, arms crossed. “Even poor Siffrin?”
(Huh?)
“Yeah,” Isabeau cracks a grin, eyes gleaming. “With the way they were drinking the other day, it was like they’ve never had alcohol before! Even they can’t escape the label?”
“Of course not.” Mirabelle frowns. “They’re the worst offender of all.”
(Oh. Teasing, then.)
“Hey,” you mutter, sinking into your collar. “I wasn’t that bad. I almost drank as much as Odile.”
“But it took you a lot longer!” Isabeau laughs. “And Odile was ready to move the next day. You were hungover.”
(You were ready to move, too! You had grabbed your pack and had started to follow them!)
(You’re not sure how they noticed your head was killing you or that your mouth felt impossibly dry, but they had and made everyone sit back down at the campsite.)
(You think you should feel offended, but instead your heart twists with the memory of their sympathy. How nice it was, to be cared for.)
(They had laughed at you, something about how you had told them to hydrate early on in your journey, and had failed to do so yourself this time.)
(It had been difficult to remember, in the heat of the moment.)
(It wasn’t your fault.)
(Or maybe that just made it extra your fault.)
“Leave them alone!” Mirabelle giggles. “You’re embarrassing them!”
(You aren’t embarrassed.)
(. . . Are you?)
Isabeau waves a dismissive hand. “Impossible. Siffrin’s too cool to be embarrassed.”
“All of that aside,” Odile says thoughtfully, tilting her head at you all. “Mirabelle is coming with us to dance night. Will you be coming, Siffrin, even with the disaster that was last time?”
You frown at her. You want to be mad about it, but.
You don’t blame her for thinking it was a disaster. You ended up delaying your journey by a couple hours by laying around.
“I’ll come,” you say. (You hadn’t seen the sign, but. . . ) “Dancing sounds like fun.”
(You probably won’t be dancing yourself. You haven’t danced since. . . )
( . . . )
(You can’t wait to see what your pals do.)
“Good!” Mirabelle brightens. She reaches towards you, but doesn’t make it all the way before she seems to change her mind. “You don’t have to drink if you don’t want to. I’ll probably be having virgin drinks if nothing else.”
“Ah, yes,” Odile grins. “When ‘drink responsibly’ means ‘don’t drink at all’. I forgot about that particularly nuanced definition.”
“It’s the safest option!” Mirabelle smiles back at her. “So seriously, Siffrin, don’t let them pressure you into it, okay?”
(You probably will, just because they spent the entire last time giggling at your expressions and you would do anything to have that back.)
(You like it when they’re noticeably and obviously happy with you.)
( . . . it probably means nothing or everything.)
“Okay, Mirabelle.” You say, because that’s what you’re supposed to say.
She smiles, happy and calm.
You smile back.
(>>)
“I’m going out shopping.” Odile says, a few minutes into sitting around. There’s an air of frustration heavy in the air that you haven’t quite unraveled yet that makes you a touch worried, but if nobody’s commented on it, you won’t be the first.
“For supplies?” Mirabelle asks, looking up from her new book.
“No. We can do that tomorrow.” Odile stands up and stretches, her back making a popping noise that makes Mirabelle blanche. “This is an attempt to destress.”
(Why’d she say it like that?)
“. . . are you bringing Siffrin with you this time?” Mirabelle asks, hard.
“I won’t make them tag along.” Odile responds firmly. “I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
“I’m not saying you’re not! It was just a question!” Mirabelle scrambles to respond, clearly put off by Odile’s cold disposition. “Forget I said anything! . . . crab it. . .”
You stand up.
(You think you get it. )
(You’re not sure how you didn’t notice the argument boiling up before this.)
(You’re not the brightest, you know, but this seems like it was building up for a while.)
“Actually I want to go out, too.” You say. “I’m going stir crazy. Do you mind if I tag along, Odile?”
Odile scoffs at you. “Do whatever you want. I’m not in charge of you.”
“Madame!” Mirabelle gasps. “Is that what this–?!”
“Let’s go, Siffrin.” Odile invites, and you scamper after her, with one sympathetic glance back at Mirabelle.
You pretend like you don’t notice the way Odile relaxes the moment you’re no longer in the room, full body drooping.
She doesn't say anything to you, and you don’t push.
As far as you’re concerned, nothing happened. Nothing at all.
Odile seems content with that.
(>>)
Help me?” Isabeau asks.
That’s it, nothing more, nothing less.
You’re on your feet, readjusting your hat on your head and following, before you can even think about pushing him about it.
He leads the way out of the campsite, where Mirabelle and Odile are having a particularly savage argument about supplies. You’ve been half listening to it while dozing, but found yourself majorly unincluded and confused.
You’ve never heard them blatantly argue before. The stress is destroying them, you think.
It makes neither of them very fun to be around, but you try not to judge. The journey’s stressful, and Mirabelle hasn’t gotten a sense for where the next orb is yet. From what you understand, that means wandering around the perimeter of Vaugarde, waiting until Mirabelle’s close enough to get a ping.
It means supplies are hard to maintain, because it’s hard to chart a course to the next town when any minute now Mirabelle’s senses will pull you all in another direction.
They were in the middle of doing the wandering thing when you met them.
( . . . you wish you knew better how to help.)
(Sometimes, it feels like they’re arguing about you, but that’s ridiculous.)
(What, like you’re their kid that was supposed to save a failing marriage but you can’t do anything right, not even get good grades in school, and you can’t. . . )
( . . . )
(You think Odile’s always been suspicious of you, anyway.)
“Sorry for waking you up,” Isabeau says, rubbing the back of his neck the further they get down the trail, heading into town. “You were probably sleeping right through that–”
“I wasn’t.” You confess, even though you had been trying to.
“Oh! That’s good then, I mean. Not good, because that’s not great to listen to.” Isabeau sighs, shaking his head. “Sometimes, I don’t think they’d be friends if it wasn’t for this trip.”
( . . . probably not.)
“Then again, all friends are circumstantial, aren’t they?” Isabeau mutters to himself. “Because chances are you wouldn’t be friends with someone at all if you weren’t in a situation with them, if it’s class or a job or. . . But it’s a choice to stay friends after! And then it stops being circumstantial, doesn’t it?”
(You’re not sure you quite understand, but it really doesn’t matter that much.)
(If it makes Isabeau feel better, then it’s fine.)
You nod.
“Sorry, again, Sif.” Isabeau says, and your mind catches on the nickname. You blink at him, but he doesn’t look at you, already talking again. “I don’t want to go into town by myself, and um. I don’t think pulling them away from each other is going to help.”
You nod again. You can just imagine how angry they would be, griping about the other, and that hurts. Pals shouldn’t talk that way about each other.
You understand being high off stress, but it’s frustrating anyway.
It’s Mirabelle’s quest, isn’t it? So it should be up to her where you go and what supplies you collect and how much.
But then again, Odile’s the seasoned traveler. She’s used to this kind of prepwork.
You can understand the confusion now.
(You wonder if they know that you’ll gladly take the burden of carrying supplies if it just keeps them happy. Better to have extra than not enough, and you already carry the least out of the entire party.)
(You’ll gladly take it upon yourself. If only to keep the peace, but mostly just so you’re actually pulling your own weight.)
“Anyway!” Isabeau says brightly. “I thought I could collect supplies, get a head start on the stuff they’ve already agreed on. Maybe they’ll be calmer by the time we get back.”
You hope you don’t split up again.
You follow after him while he chatters, and try not to feel worried over the way he can’t seem to reel it in.
You remember what he called you. You feel warm.
(>>)
Odile and Mirabelle both apologize to you separately.
Mirabelle invites you to help her wash clothes while she does her, and Odile brings you right back into town so you can help her carry even more supplies for her end.
You smile and forgive them. You’re just glad you’re all pals again.
(>>)
“I’m going to go shopping,” Mirabelle says with a small shudder, standing up and stretching her arms with an audible pop. “Siffrin, will you come with me?”
You shake your head.
“Come on.” Mirabelle’s voice turns harder, uncharacteristically authoritative. “You’ve been sitting here all day. You need to take a stretch break at some point. This will take your mind off things, you know?”
“What if they wake up?” You mutter. “I don’t want them to be alone. And– and you’re the one with the healing Craft. Should you really be leaving?”
“That’s not fair.” Mirabelle huffs. “Isabeau is a Defender, so he’s taken first-aid classes. And then Madame’s traveled a lot, so she knows how to heal on the go. They’re more than capable of taking care of a malnourished child.”
You curl halfway into yourself.
(You don’t know how to explain that you feel a deep responsibility for them.)
You’re the one who first saw them, who caught them before they hit the ground.
(You could see the way that the tears kept leaking even in their restless sleep, and you could see the dried marks of other spilled tears etched across their skin. . . )
(They were too young for this.)
(It fiddled with a memory, deep in your mind, and you. . . )
(Someone had to be there for them.)
(They shouldn’t need to figure out how to navigate this world on their own.)
(You don't know if your party would’ve agreed or not, but on the chance that they wouldn’t, you don’t want to risk anything.)
“. . . I don’t want to leave them alone.” You repeat.
Mirabelle softens, almost too subtly for you to see, but her voice is so gentle when she next talks. “Please. Isabeau will watch over them while we’re gone. They’re not going to disappear, okay? We don’t want anything to happen to them either.”
You chew on your lip.
“Besides,” Mirabelle murmurs. “We need to get tonics for them, and maybe some new clothes. Maybe some toys, too?”
( . . .what?)
“We can afford it.” Mirabelle continues. “It’s not too much extra money. We just. . . need to remember there’s more to a child’s health than having needs provided for, they also need– need to be happy.”
“Mira. . .” You say quietly, staring at her.
She doesn’t react to the nickname. “And I know we don’t know how old they are, or what their interests are, but I’m sure we can find generic. . . something. Action figures? Dolls? Puzzle games. . . ?”
“You. . . want to take care of them?” You ask her, wide eyes locking on her.
“Of course! Everyone deserves care! What kind of saviours would we be if we weren’t trying to help as many people as we can?” Mirabelle asks, smiling softly at you. “I want to protect the kid more than anything. Even if it’s only for a little bit.”
You hesitate for only a second more, and then slowly rise to your feet. “Okay. Supplies, then?”
Mirabelle relaxes and fully. “Yes! Supplies. Come on, Siffrin! Let’s go.”
With waning reservations, you finally turn away from the kid. Isabeau slides into the tent as you leave, offering you a smile.
You. . . trust them with the kid. What kind of saviours would they be if you couldn’t?
(>>)
Bonnie’s swinging your arm back and forth, back and forth. You let them, enjoying the strange fuzz of a child holding onto your glove and manhandling you to do as they wish. You like that they feel comfortable enough to do whatever they want.
It had taken them what felt like an eternity, but must’ve only been a couple days, to be up to what Isabeau calls ‘regular kid hijinks’. You haven’t met a kid in recent memory, so you don’t exactly have a basis for what that is, but. . .
(You’re glad somebody knows.)
(You’re glad the kid’s happy.)
“Why doesn’t Belle want me to come with you all?” Bonnie asks, something reserved and quiet even as they continue to fiddle with you.
You tilt your head at them, the extra weight of the flower crown around the bulk of your hat making it feel just a little off.
(You wish flowers didn’t have to rot so you could keep it there forever.)
“It’s dangerous, Bonbon.”
“So? I walked across ha-half of the crabbing country by myself! I beat up so many Sadnesses, all by myself! S-so I can help!”
(Hm.)
(You doubt they actually did any fighting, but. . . You can’t lie and say you don’t want them to join you. The safest way to keep them safe is to bring them along. The chances that they’ll eventually get caught by the curse are high.)
(The citizens of Vaugarde don’t seem to be much of ones for running away, except for Bonnie.)
(You can relate. You don’t care much about leaving Vaugarde, either.)
“I’m sure you’d be super helpful.” You tell them. “But it doesn’t change the ‘it’s dangerous’ part.”
“Can’t you– can’t you talk to Belle? Tell her I want to stay with you all?”
(Oh, if only it were that simple, but it was everyone else’s choice.)
(At only a word, they could kick you out of the group, too, and you don’t want to do anything that would rock the boat.)
(You’re pals, you’re buddies! But Isabeau said such things were circumstantial at first, right? You can’t risk ruining those circumstances before they make the decision themselves.)
( . . . but you like Bonnie.)
(You like them almost as much as you like the rest of the group.)
(Mirabelle sounded eager to keep them at first, too, until she remembered that bringing them along would mean facing off against more Kingsmen and then eventually the King himself.)
(You’re sure you can drop Bonnie somewhere off temporarily while you’re fighting, and then pick them up afterwards.)
(The more you think about it, the more you like it.)
“Please?” Bonnie pleads, even though you’ve practically convinced yourself by now. “I really wanna spend more time with you, Frin!”
“I’ll see what I can do, Bonbon.” You promise them.
They smile at you, and your chest unspools with something soft and warm. You really love them, you think.
You hope it goes well.
(>>)
When Odile next leaves by herself, she says nothing.
She shoots you a glance that’s just a little commanding, wanting something from you she doesn’t say. You’re on your feet in an instant, trotting after her obediently.
“Thank you for coming with me, Siffrin.” Odile says, giving you a small glance. “I’m not sure you would want to, especially leaving your best friend behind.”
(Best friend?)
(What did she. . .)
You look back at Bonnie, catching them watching the two of you intently just as the door closes behind you.
(Ah.)
(She’s teasing you.)
“That’s a child, Odile.” You smile at her, ducking your head beneath your hat.
Odile lets out a quiet chuckle, something soft unspooling in the air between you. You squirm. “Yes. Yes, it most certainly is.”
“Is there something you wanted?” You ask, prying.
Odile blinks down at you. You can’t tell if it’s from surprise or annoyance. You were getting so good at reading her expressions, and then you keep assuming the wrong thing.
“Come now, Siffrin,” Odile says dryly. “Do I need an excuse to spend time with you?”
You guess not. But that didn’t make any sense. You shrug at her, waiting for her to relent and admit what she needs, but weirdly enough, she says nothing else.
You dare let yourself pretend that she meant it.
It almost feels like she did even without pretending.
(>>)
“You were so helpful today, Bonnie!” Mirabelle tells Bonnie, hands on her knees as she leans over and smiles at them. “Thank you so much!”
“All I did was keep your stuff safe,” Bonnie mumbles, kicking at the ground. “You did all the fighting.”
“Keeping our things safe is very important. Imagine if they stole the orbs back?” Mirabelle said. “And you kept everything together so it was easy to run afterwards. You did a wonderful job.”
Bonnie looks at you, searching approval, and you give them a single nod as you twist at your hair, getting as much moisture out as you can.
(For one of the first times, you wish you had more spare clothes then a singular tanktop and your sleep clothes so you could change into something that wasn’t dripping wet.)
(It feels selfish to ask.)
(Your cloak has a few coins in it that you haven’t spent yet, but it’s not nearly enough to buy new clothes, so you’d have to bite into the party’s shared funds.)
Odile and Isabeau are changing into fully dry clothes behind some bushes on opposite sides of the clearing.
(You feel jealousy nipping at your chest.)
“You did good, Bonbon.” You reassure, peeling off your tanktop. It drips from where it leaves your skin, and you wrinkle your nose. Mirabelle hands you a towel, which you gratefully take. “You kept it safe from the savages, and got me my dagger quickly.”
Bonnie smiles at you, and you’re relieved to see them actually relaxing.
“Do you want to get a fire started so we can dry off our clothes?” Mirabelle asks Bonnie, and they nodded, scampering away. She sighs as they leave, crossing her arms and straightening.
She looks towards you, arms crossed and shoulders hunched. “I wish they trusted me the way they trust you, Siffrin.” She frets, nipping at nails. You point, and she flushes with embarrassment as she pushes her hand back down to clutch at her arms. “I-I mean, I know I shouldn’t be jealous! But. . . Oh, I don’t know! There’s something about having a child like you that just feels good!”
(She’s right!)
“I am sorry that we didn’t listen to you earlier.” She says quietly a moment later. “We didn’t mean to make you upset, we just. . . I’m glad you’re safe.”
(Oh.)
(You forgot about that.)
(You don’t blame her, though. You would’ve done the same thing in your shoes.)
“Water under the bridge, Mirabelle.”
“That better have been accidental, Siffrin.” Mirabelle huffs at you.
(What did– Oh!)
(Oh!)
(Oh now you hope Isabeau apologizes, too, so you can use that again. Oh, he’ll get a kick out of that one.)
You smile innocently at Mirabelle. “Is what an accident?”
Mirabelle hmfs, but there’s still a smile on her lips. “Oh, whatever. Forget I said anything. I just hope–”
Isabeau steps out from behind the bushes, still carding a towel through his hair, but he’s dressed in dry clothes. His soaked ones are at his hip.
“Oh, thank Change!” Mirabelle cries, and grabs her clothes off the ground. She holds out her hand towards you, and you pass her towel over quietly. She’s gone in an instant.
“Woah, someone’s impatient!” Isabeau says, laughing at her as she scurries past. He looks back at you, and sullens a little. (You really must’ve been mean earlier. You hadn’t felt that mean.) “Hey, Sif. . .”
“Isa.” You respond, awkwardly, not sure what you’re supposed to respond to him with. Maybe you should say something first, just so he doesn’t feel bad. “Listen, about earlier. . . water under the bridge, okay?”
Isabeau grins brightly, eyes sparkling. “Oh! HA! That’s a good one, Sif! I’m. . . I’m glad you’re not still angry at us! Next time you tell us to run, we will, okay? We’ll trust that you’ve got things handled!”
(Thank the stars.)
“But, hey, next time we’re in a town, you can choose where we eat, okay?” Isabeau says, hands on his hips. “Or you can choose what Bonnie makes next, if they let you? I dunno!”
(Oh you don’t have strong opinions about that kind of thing. Food is food.)
“All good, Isa. I appreciate the invitation, though!” You reassure, smiling up at him. Isabeau relaxes.
(You hope you managed to make him feel less bad.)
(You hope they don’t think you’re a jerk forever now.)
(. . . you guess you’ll find out.)
(>>)
“I’ll be back,” Odile says, swerving off towards an antique store the next time you’re in a town.
This time, you don’t need to be asked. You’re already peeling off after her.
(You forget that you’re supposed to choose where you’re eating dinner.)
(You’ll remember later.)
(Or be reminded later.)
(It doesn’t matter which.)
(>>)
“There’s a play going on at the local theatre.” You say hesitantly as your group stops for lunch at a family-friendly tavern, halfway to the next and final orb.
Isabeau still gets beer and you think you catch Odile pouring something into her glass that probably shouldn’t be in it. But you, Mirabelle, and Bonnie (!!) get some fish and crisps along with some fruits for the table. Bonnie is under strict instructions to eat nine fruit chunks, the same as their age.
Or their estimated age, anyway. All you know is that they’re a preteen, which your pals say can be anything from eight to twelve. That’s a big gap, and even Bonnie looked surprised that it was such a large spectrum.
They refused to elaborate, so Mirabelle chose ‘nine’ as the closest age.
Being the second youngest, Mirabelle would be the expert in such things.
You think you caught Bonnie looking grumpy at being called nine, but since it has them eating less fruit, they don’t complain.
You don’t either. You’re not looking to make Bonnie hate you.
“I’d be more surprised if there wasn’t a play going on,” Odile muttered, forehead resting on her fists as she reads her book. She looks stressed. “If there’s one thing the citizens of Vaugarde know how to do, it’s party even when their very lives are in danger.”
( . . . the curse is a few days off. You wouldn’t call their lives ‘in danger’ yet.)
(Oh well! You tried!)
(You’ll find a ditch to die in after you’re done with this meal.)
“Is the play a good one?” Isabeau asks, sipping at his drink. His nose wrinkles in disgust, and you feel a soft pull of vindication. You pretend you don’t notice when he pours out the entire drink into a bush.
“I think it looks pretty good.” You offer, not sure how much your opinion really matters. “It’s based on. . . ”
(Stars, you lost it. You swear you liked the little bit of the plot you read! You swear there was something interesting about its origins that had you hooked, you swear it–)
You bury your chin into your collar. “It looked alright.”
The table is heavily awkward. You can hear Isabeau shuffle around, and Mirabelle makes a soft noise that has your stomach twisting, and you can’t believe you just brought something up that doesn’t even mean anything.
Odile’s right. What’s the big deal about any of this?
“It would be nice to see a play. . . ” Mirabelle mumbles to herself. “When’s the next time we’ll be able to relax?”
“Do you think it’ll help you destress before the last orb?” Isabeau asks her. “Or will sitting around–”
She shoves her hands into his face, scrambling to clamp them over his mouth. “Nono! Don’t say anything about that! You’ll speak it into existence, and I don’t want–! No. No, it’s fine.” She pulls back, folding her hands into her lap and nods to herself, lips set in a thin line. “It’ll be nice to see something mindless. Madame?”
“I’ll come,” Odile says. “Expressions know we need a morale booster right now.”
( ! ! ! )
You perk up. “There’s one in about an hour, and the next will be later afternoon. The intermission happens around dinner time.”
“You remember the times!” Isabeau chimes excitedly, grinning at you. “Good job, Sif!”
(You feel patronized.)
(You are not that awful at remembering things.)
(It’s just meals and times and responsibilities and tasks and conversations and. . . )
(You feel patronized!)
“Let’s go to the earlier one!” Mirabelle says cheerfully. “Just in case it goes a little longer and crosses over into. . . bedtimes.”
Everyone pretends like they’re not looking at Bonnie.
Bonnie’s not stupid, and glares at you all. They shuffle closer to you, because at least you tried to let them stay up a little longer. Everyone deserves treats every once in a while.
“Once we’re done here we can rent a room for the night.” Odile decides. “Just to make sure they’re not all fully booked by the time we get out.”
You smile at them, your heart unspooling in soft excitement.
You’re so happy they agreed to come with you, to do something you wanted! Of course, you wouldn’t be that upset even if they didn’t, but it’s still nice to finally be the person inviting someone else for a change.
You’re so excited!
You hope they like the play.
(>>)
(Everything hurts.)
(You’re trying not to show it, though, smiling at your party and engaging when they say something.)
When Bonnie and Odile bring over a tray of finger food, they lay it over your legs and all bundle in close so you can all eat. You join them, even if it feels too much right now. You swear it makes your headache worsen every time you swallow. The movement of chewing pulls at your eye socket.
(Just another thing to get used to, you guess.)
(Along with remembering that Isabeau is sitting on your left. He keeps saying something and you jump, and everyone is a mix of apologies and hopelessly sad looks.)
(It honestly makes you just a little mad.)
(You’re not helpless.)
(You can still see almost as well with one eye as you could before. It’s just that your field of vision isn’t centered and is a little smaller, but you’ve seen plenty of people like this, haven’t you?)
(You can’t really remember.)
(It’s not like you’re missing a leg or an arm! You can still walk just fine, still fight like you used to. Honestly, you think this whole thing is blown out of proportion.)
(You’re fine, they’re fine, everyone is fine.)
(The way everyone keeps looking at you makes it feel like they don’t like that you got hurt. Like you would ever choose your own health over Bonnie’s. That’s ridiculous.)
(An eye next to their only life?)
“We should ask.” Odile says abruptly, yanking you out of your thoughts and drawing everyone else’s head up.
“Wh- Already?!” Isabeau splutters. “M’dame, isn’t that pushing it?
“I think it’s perfectly within reasonable bounds.” Odile responds, turning her head to look out the window. “The curse will be here in two days. It’s best to get a move on before it advances much further.”
( . . . oh.)
(That’s fine, then.)
“Hmm! Fine!” Mirabelle nods. “You’re right, Madame! Siffrin!”
(Huh?)
You startle, turning to stare at her. “Yes, Mira?” You ask innocently, even though you can already predict where this is going.
“Listen, we wouldn’t normally do this.” Mirabelle says, reaching out her hands to seize yours. “But you are hurt. You’ve been steadily getting better, and that’s wonderful!” She frowns and withdraws, pressing her knuckles to her lips. “I’m. . . That’s wonderful.”
“Yes.” You say slowly.
(You’ve been working on it.)
(Taking your painkillers when instructed, resting at night, eating all the food offered no matter how unhungry you are. You’ve been working hard at trying to recover quickly.)
(They can’t wait around forever for you, and it seems like your time has run out.)
(No, not your time. Technically you have two more days, apparently, but their patience? Gone.)
(You didn’t start this, and you guess you won’t finish it, either.)
“We. . . understand that it might hurt.” Mirabelle says cautiously. “That it would be annoying, more trouble then it’s worth, but. . .”
Bonnie picks at the blanket next to your toes. They don’t look at you. You try to remember if they have recently, but your head hurts too much so you don’t think about it.
“I made an eyepatch for you!” Isabeau says quickly. “Easy to wash, crafted to be comfortable. . . It’ll help! I promise that it’ll help!”
(You blink up at him.)
(That was out of nowhere, but. . . You appreciate the offer.)
You hold out your hand, and Isabeau deposits the lightless fabric into your open palm. You close your fingers around it. It feels comfortable even in your grip, despite being decently stiff underneath all the fabric.
“Thank you, Isa.” You say softly.
You watch him relax.
“It’ll be difficult.” Odile puts in, and you risk a glance up at her. “We understand that. It will not be without risk, far from it, but we are willing to provide any mobility aids you may need.”
(Wait, what?)
You stare at her.
“We do not want to leave you behind to be frozen.” Odile explains. “Even if it’s the healthiest option, but. . .”
“We know the risks.” Mirabelle clarified. “We know it’ll be dangerous, and the. . . if your eye gets infected. . .”
“But we can’t leave you behind!” Isabeau finally breaks, wringing hands together. “I know, I know, but we. . . We don’t want to go at it alone. You’re important to the team, you know?”
(Oh.)
(Oh, they want to keep you! They like you enough to risk it.)
Your heart spins, and you feel lightheaded.
“Let me tell you a secret.” Odile scoots closer. “I know how to get into the House’s pharmacy.”
You blink at her.
She levels you with a fierce grin that feels very offputting. “We can get you all the painkillers you need.”
“MADAME?!”
“M’dame, don’t joke!”
“Highway robb’ry. . .”
“Very well done, Boniface!” Odile praises. “Yes, we’re going to be on the run for the rest of our lives."
You smile at her, and it pulls on your eye in a way that makes you flinch and lower it just a little. You’re still. . . surprised. A little nervous, but mostly surprised. They want you to come with them? They actually are willing to put in the work?
Not that you actually think there will be a lot of effort put into going back to normal, but you’ve misjudged the distance from your bed to the floor and even to the toilet and ended up with stubbed toes enough times that you know moving is going to be a problem. But outside of the tight spaces, in the real world, with sunlight dappling between the trees?
There shouldn’t be an issue.
“You actually want me to come with you?” You ask, just to double check.
“Of course, Sif!” Isabeau smiles. “Of course, it’s completely your choice, but we. . .”
“We’d really like it if you did, anyway.” Mirabelle encourages gently. “You’ve helped us so much, and I know it’s unfair to ask more of you, especially since Vaugarde isn’t yours, and of course you can leave as soon as you want, but–!”
“Mira.” You interrupt gently.
She flinches, and you wait until she shyly meets your eyes before continuing.
“I would love to spend time with you all some more.” You tell her, genuinely. It might be a bit too honest, and you carefully back it up. “We still have a King’s butt to kick, don’t we? I’ve always dreamed of overthrowing a regime. It would be cruel to deprive me of that, I think.”
Mirabelle crumbles with relief, pressing her face into her hands. Her shoulders shake, but you think it’s a good thing.
Isabeau wheezes out a relieved laugh, holding out their arm. Bonnie burrows into them and they hug each other.
(You try to ignore the way your stomach and heart twist at the sight.)
“We’ll be glad to have you.” Odile smiles down at you, and you continue to grin back up at her. “What would our team be without our rogue, after all?”
You’re honored she thinks so highly of you.
You’re honored they want to continue to invite you at all.
You know you’ll survive without your eye, but the way everyone else has been talking. . .
You had worried that they had already settled on the worst.
You’re so happy to know that’s not the case.
You’re so relieved you get to stay with them. You want to for a long, long time.