So! I've gotten into TAZ lately, but I've only been posting TAZ content on AO3 because FFN doesn't have a category for it. Feel free to hit me up with requests for Hurloane or Lucretia content!


Rebel

In the morning, she woke him with a teasing, "You slept in, dumbass." The insult was affectionate on her lips, but her smile was wan.

Summer squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them again. He felt absolutely awful, and his hand hurt like hell. He had a headache and his throat felt like it was full of fuzz and why did it have to be so bright?!

He reluctantly opened his eyes. He was lying on his back in a hollow formed by a tree trunk and an indentation in the ground. Mariette was above him, her hair framing his face as she looked down at him. She'd draped her cape over him, but she was still completely naked. He sat up and hissed when his injured hand brushed a tree root. She got out of his way and sat back on her heels, watching him with worry in her eyes. He looked at his hand and was relieved to see that bandages covered the wound. True, there was a dark spot where he'd bled through, but it was better than seeing the actual wound. He tried wiggling his fingers, but it hurt too much. Terror shot through him. Words tumbled painfully from his throat. "Oh my God, Mariette, it's broken. My hand's broken. What if I can't fix it?

She gently shushed him, pressing a chaste kiss to his earlobe. "Don't worry, love. Orpheus is good enough that he avoided your artery and bones."

He gaped at her. "Mariette! There's nerves there too!"

She wiggled her left hand at him, which — as always — was hidden in a glove. "Then we can match! See, it's your left arm, too."

He shuddered. "Mare, I don't want Zahhak operating on me. It was bad enough watching him do it to you—"

She shrugged then, and he fell silent. Wordlessly, she waved a roll of gauze at him. He nodded, held out his hand, and looked decidedly at the tree. It hurt as she cleaned it out, but he managed not to make too many noises. Once he felt her tie off the knot on a new bandage, he allowed himself to look back at it. He couldn't feel the tips of his fingers, which wasn't a good sign.

She handed him a flask and he gratefully gulped it down, ignoring the water that splashed over his lips and dripped down his neck. She hastily took it back, snapping, "We only have so much, you know!"

He laid back against the tree, eyes fluttering shut. "Sorry," he mumbled. He was so very tired.

A cold hand shook him and his eyes flew open. She said firmly, "Summer. Get up. We need to get back to headquarters to get your hand checked and to get new supplies. Orpheus is probably looking for us as we speak."

Grimacing, Summer nodded. "Yeah. That's a good idea." As she went to get dressed, he slowly and painfully stood. "Hey, Mare?"

She looked up from where she was buckling her belt. "What?"

"Could you . . . um . . . help me?" He hated this. He hated this so much. But her expression merely softened and she nodded, grabbing his clothes and helping him. She only teased him once.

.

By the time they were on the road, Summer felt significantly better. The fact that he had eaten and gotten dressed probably helped. Mariette still had that strange look on her face, and she wasn't smiling as easily as usual. She still kept her head up to watch for bandits or more dangerous creatures, but she wasn't walking with her normal swagger.

Now that he was no longer so focused on himself, Summer could see that. After he was sure that they weren't going to have to run for their lives any minute now (and also that Dualscar was far, far behind them), he asked, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Mariette lied. It was a transparent lie, an automatic response. When Summer merely raised his eyebrows, she sighed. "I was worried about you, alright? What else was I supposed to feel? We'd gotten ambushed and everything was smoke and screams and the next thing I knew, you were gone! What was I supposed to do, other than race after you to try and get you back?"

"Mariette. . . ." he sighed.

"It's what you would've done for me," she shot back, a hint of her usual fire audible in her voice.

Summer shook his head. "Stop lying to me, Mare. You forget that I can tell."

She glared at him, arched brows dropping low over her eyes. "I'm not lying."

Summer took her hand in his, linking their fingers together. He had to use his right hand, which he detested. Her left hand was never fun to hold. Now, in the early morning, the cold had seeped deep into her metal fingers. He could feel it even through her glove. "Lies of omission are still lies, love."

"Lies of omission are fucking nonexistent," she snarled, but he raised their joined hands and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. She sighed again, but louder. "Fine! It was Orpheus, like you already fucking know! I didn't know he'd be there, but once I found out . . . I was hoping to grab you without having to reveal myself to his stupid fucking face with his stupid w-wav-vy hair." He heard Dualscar's stutter in her voice, and was shocked at how accurately she was able to mimic his accent.

"How long have you known him?" It was no longer a question of if she knew him, but how.

Mariette shrugged as dramatically as she could. "How am I supposed to know? I don't even remember when we met. He was just a stupid fucking constant in my life. That one idiot I could always count on to be there even when I didn't want him to be!" Her distress was starting to crack her normally flawless mask. Her voice was rising and her expression was slowly becoming more obvious. "I hated him so fucking much, but it was okay, because that was how our relationship worked! But then he became Her Imperiousness' pet and I became a criminal-for-hire." She laughed bitterly.

Summer quickly checked that nobody else was on the road. Nobody was. Of course. Who else would be hiking in the wilderness this early? And so he took Mariette and kissed her on the lips, right there in the middle of the road. He felt her shock, and was pleased when he felt her relax. When he pulled away, he said gently, "It's okay. You're okay, right?" She nodded mutely. "So it's okay. Right?"

Mariette shrugged miserably. "I just. . . . I wish that it had happened differently. I used to want to run away with him, you know? Get away from our parents, live our lives stealing everything we could. We would've been the best!" With a start, he realized that she had been crying last night. She was crying again now, and she wiped the tears away angrily. "I used to dream that I'd meet him again and I'd convince him to leave Her Imperiousness and come help me plan heists and steal fortunes."

She buried her face in his shoulder and gasped until she was able to stop crying. Summer just held her to him as well as he could. He could feel himself growing distressed as well. Not because of what she was saying, but rather simply because of the fact that she herself was distressed. He didn't like it when she was upset.

He suspected other men would be jealous of Dualscar right now. Or at the very least angry or upset at him. But he wasn't. He merely wished he could make it better for Mariette. But he didn't know what to say, and so he just stroked her hair and pressed kisses along her brow.

After a while, she stepped away. "He was my childhood," she said softly, "but you're my life." This time, she kissed him. Her lips tasted of her tears, but he didn't care. He knew she hated saying sentimental things like that. She thought they were silly and useless. But they meant a lot to him, and he knew that she only said it because of that.

It struck him that he really did love her.

That this wasn't just a quick fling or a relationship formed in the heat of the moment. He loved her with his entire being. The rebellion and its cause gave him something to die for. She gave him something to live for.

.

Later, around noon, she admitted, "I'd never imagined our meeting would occur in a rundown building on the bad side of the Derse Sector."

He added, "Or that I'd be tied to a chair."

She laughed, and he smiled.


Noble

It took Orpheus three days of sulking around his mansion to decide to track her down, three days of agonizing over whether his loyalty to his Empress or to the girl he'd thought he would marry was stronger. In the end, as he traced the scars across his face, he decided he'd never really loved the Empress anyways.

(He could still remember the three deadly prongs, two digging into his skin and one tangling with his hair)

It took him a week to figure out which of his contacts could handle a job like that and which wouldn't say anything to Her Imperiousness. In the end, he narrowed it down to three people. He picked his final choice because of her skill and prayed she wouldn't tell her boss about it. It took him two days to figure out how to contact her without alerting her boss, and another three to actually do so. Next came four restless days of waiting for her to get back to him, four days spent pacing and grumbling and twisting his handkerchief. Her response was short and completely not worth the wait. I'll do it. He sent another message back. Meet me in Alternia City and I'll tell you everything. It took him three days to get to Alternia City, but at least those days were spent moving. When he arrived, he learned that the Bronzelings had struck again; they'd burned down Her Imperiousness' summer palace and stolen some important documents. He was furious, of course, but he was too preoccupied to deal with it. He simply sent a couple men to the palace to inspect the damage.

(Besides, hadn't he decided where his loyalties lay? Not with Her, not anymore?)

She met him at his house with three sharp knocks on the door.

Her first words were, "I'll find Mindfang for you."

.

Her name was Scarlett Pyrope, and she was one of the few people that was talented enough to find somebody like Mariette and trustworthy enough that he could let her do so. The only problem was that she had a much different motive for finding her; she and Mariette had tangled several years back, and it'd resulted in multiple deaths, Mariette's disappearance, and the end of Scarlett's career. She hated Orpheus for his part in that, but she hated Mariette more.

They sat together in his private office, her sitting with her legs crossed at the ankles and her chin propped in her palm. She looked so freakishly professional, with a quill held loosely between her fingers and a sheaf of parchments laid on the table in front of her. She also looked faintly annoyed at the decorations in the room, but had the grace not to mention the rather garish swords that were mounted everywhere.

He mentioned them instead, saying offhandedly, "I apologize for the decorations. I was younger and had admittedly aw-wful taste when I bought this house."

She snorted, pushing her garish red glasses higher up her nose. "We don't all have the pleasure to own five houses, Ampora. No need to make it sound as though we should." Her voice was like the rest of her: sharp and wicked. There was also a slight cadence to it, a melodious rising and falling. He recognized the accent instantly and grimaced.

"You still talk to Makara?"

Her reply was bitingly sarcastic. "No, of course not. I only work with him on a regular basis."

He sighed, irritated. He'd forgotten how much he detested working with her. "Before I say anything else, w-will you promise not to tell him about this?"

She blinked at him from behind her glasses, and he watched as her eyes narrowed. "Give me a good reason not to."

Orpheus scowled. It took him several seconds to think of an answer she would agree to. She wouldn't care if Mariette got killed or if he was banished. She only cared about bringing Mariette to justice. There really was no other choice but to threaten her, and that was always a bad idea. For one thing, she was Makara's favorite weapon, and to mess with her was to mess with him and even Orpheus, who was Her Imperiousness' right hand, didn't mess with Carlos Makara. For another thing, Scarlett Pyrope could be even more terrifying than Mariette. She was a different kind of terror, but a scourge nonetheless.

Her kill count was rumored to be nearly double what it was officially stated to be, which was no easy matter.

Still, he didn't have another choice and if he thought any longer she would think he was lying. "I could get you exiled from the Mirthful Church."

Scarlett sprang to her feet, but it wasn't the sort of automatic reaction that other people had. On other people, it was a sign of weakness. On her, it was threatening. Scarlett was a five foot tall fireball with a tongue that could cleave through flesh. "Blasphemy and heresy," she spat, Makara's weird accent suddenly very prominent in her voice, "You have no control over the Church, Orpheus Ampora!"

He leaned over the table and retorted coldly, "No, but I can also frame you for the recent fire at Her Imperiousness' palace. She'd be more than happy to kill you."

Scarlett snapped back, "We both know you wouldn't survive a second in court with me." But she sat down anyways, because they both knew that Her Imperiousness didn't care about the facts. She just liked to place the blame. She huffed a little bit and then said, "I'm not going to promise not to tell Carlos what we're doing, because I do have a relationship I'd like to uphold. I will, however, ensure that it doesn't reach Her Imperiousness, which is your point. Correct?"

Orpheus was less hung up on the fact that she'd guessed his intentions and more startled by the fact that Scarlett Pyrope was courting Carlos Makara. Still, he managed not to ask a strange question and instead forced out, "I also don't w-want you to kill her."

Scarlett eyes narrowed and set her quill down on the dark wood of the desk. "Mr. Ampora, I know that you detest it when others talk to you as if you're stupid, but I'm afraid that, frankly, you're very stupid." He bristled at that, but she continued, "Why would you ask me to help you find her if you don't want her dead? There are scores of other idiots out there who won't kill her."

"Yes, but, loathe as I am to admit it, you're the best," he replied easily.

Unfortunately, flattery didn't work on her.

"I will continue to operate under the assumption that you are not stupid and instead made a mistake and ask you why on earth I shouldn't kill that two-faced bitch?"

Orpheus slapped several papers down in front of her. "Because I'm hiring you and I want her aliv-ve."

She glared at him, but she couldn't say anything to that because he was in fact hiring her. And so she simply opened up the folder and started reading.

It had what little he knew, from the her known contacts (which was abysmal, because one name was listed there and he was dead) to her disappearance (which Scarlett already knew). There was a ten year gap between that and now, time she'd apparently spent by joining the Bronzelings. He still couldn't believe that Mariette Serket — ever elusive and never to take a side — had joined the Bronzelings.

After he was sure she'd finished, he asked, "Can you find her?"

Scarlett nodded, and there was a strange glint in her eyes. "I can't kill her, correct? Do I have permission to wreck havoc elsewhere?"

"Of course, if you do it discreetly. But if you hurt her, I'll hav-ve your head."

Scarlett stood up, slipping the papers into her binder. Her expression was disdainful, and she didn't even smile at him. "You're sentimental, Orpheus. You know she'd sooner tear you apart than court you again."

He smiled at her, but it was a cold smile. It was the type of smile that promised pain should she overstep her boundaries. "Believ-ve me. I'm more than w-willin' to kill her myself."

(Liar, liar)

Eyes narrowing, Scarlett gave a terse nod. "I'll be back in a week or so. Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone." And then she shut the door behind her with a crash and Orpheus sagged over his desk.

Scowling, he muttered, "One day, she's going to get herself into some real deep shit." He wasn't even sure if he meant Scarlett or Mariette.


Thief

Mariette woke up to the sound of birds shrieking. Her first thought was that it was horribly sunny. Her second thought was that she was very uncomfortable.

Her eyes flew open when she remembered the events of the night before, and she jerked upright. To her dismay, she was still in the wreckage of Her Imperiousness' summer palace. She swore and rose stiffly to her feet, ignoring the way her head moaned in protest. It took her a couple seconds of fumbling about and stubbing her toe on loose columns before she realized why she felt so heavy.

Her arm was broken.

Another string of curses flew from her lips, and she inspected the limp metal arm. It was still attached to her shoulder, although there was a rather impressive gash down her forearm. Wires sparked weakly when she tried to move her fingers, and a bolt of warmth shot through her shoulder. Angrily, she jerked down the neckline of her shirt to fumble at the spot on her shoulder where metal met flesh. Her fingers slipped easily into place, and the Zahhak family crest lit up blue. That same unpleasant warmth emanated from the metal, and her scowl deepened.

With a jolt, the arm fell off. It didn't disconnect fully and stopped just before it hit the ground, sending a spasm of pain across her shoulders and down her spine.

Eyes watering, she tore out the remaining wires, nearly biting her tongue off in the process. She tapped a couple more hidden buttons hopefully, but the damned thing refused to compress itself into its travel form.

In the end, she used her belt and necklace to create a makeshift strap for it. Slinging it over one shoulder, Mariette looked around.

The metal arm — whose warmth she could feel even through her shirt — did nothing to hinder her movement. Still, there wasn't much to see.

Everything had been burnt to the ground. It was a miracle that she was still alive and (mostly) well. A thought struck her, and she immediately scrambled towards the only part of the castle that hadn't burned down: the family mausoleum.

Having the family mausoleum in the same place as the summer palace felt like a really bizarre combination to Mariette, but she wasn't complaining.

It was the only stone structure in the entire place and, last she'd heard, Summer had been there.

"Summer!" she called, as loudly as she dared to. She had no idea who else was alive or who was around. "Summer! Where are you?" She tripped over a stray root and just barely remembered that she only had one arm. She hit the ground hard with her good shoulder first. Groaning, she sat up and rubbed her aching side.

She felt horrible. Her entire body hurt and her eye was aching worse than it had in years. She slumped over and pulled off her eyepatch, rubbing dismally at the twisted mass of scar flesh that was all that remained of it.

"Summer!" she shouted again, this time as loudly as she physically could, "Where the fuck are you?!"

Something — the breeze? — caught her attention. She turned, surveying the landscape. The ruins of the palace were all around her, and the once beautiful mountain scenery was marred by black spikes of wood and ash.

"Summer?"

This time, she was able to hear the words in the noise. "Mare!"

Her breath caught in her throat and she felt nearly sick with hope and fear. "Summer! Where are you?"

She heard coughing and shot to her feet, scrambling towards the sound. Near the mausoleum, she found a pile of rubble that shifted dangerously despite the lack of wind. Crouching by it, she said again, "Summer!" She repeated it twice more, desperately searching for a hint of his dyed-red hair.

"Mariette!" His voice was muffled but most definitely coming from the pile of rubble.

She swore and scrambled to move the stuff on top of him. It was slow going, as she only had one arm and he was only half-conscious. By the time she was able to drag him out, the sun was high overhead and her back was streaked with sweat.

She quickly dragged him into the shade of the mausoleum, brushing his hair — white with ash — from his eyes with shaking fingers. "You fucking idiot," she snapped, "When I told you the roof was coming down, I meant for you to run the opposite direction of the maps!"

He laughed shakily and shoved his hand into his shirt. When he pulled out a fistful of papers — Her Imperiousness' battle plans and other important information — she smiled too. "I got them," he informed her triumphantly, reaching up to brush his hand against her face. She shook him off.

"Are you alright?" His lower half was streaked with blood, and she could see the white of bone.

"I think I'm fine," Summer said slowly, his smile fading.

Mariette scowled at him but didn't move. After all, his head was in her lap, and she didn't want to hurt him any more than he was already. "I thought we'd agreed that I was the liar in this relationship."

Summer avoided her eyes. "This is going to sound strange," he said carefully, "but I can't feel my legs."

She stared at him. "What."

Summer propped himself up on his elbows to look her in the eyes. "I can't feel my legs."

Mariette felt cold trickle down her spine. What was the rebellion supposed to do with a leader who couldn't even walk?

The same thought must have been running through Summer's head, because he laughed cruelly and said, "I guess you'll have to go on without me."

That spurred her into action. She slapped him with her good hand, and he gaped at her, shocked. "You fucking idiot!" she cried again, angry with herself for not thinking quicker. "Look, your legs are broken and my arm is broken, aren't they? I'm still fine, aren't I?"

His eyes widened and he looked at her left sleeve, which hung loosely. The shoulder was stained red with blood and black with oil. She could feel more dripping down her side. "Do you think he could—"

"I know he could," she insisted. "We're going to visit him right now."

"But the plans!" he protested.

"Screw them," she snapped vehemently, "Her Imperiousness has been waiting to be overthrown for years already. She can wait a couple extra weeks." Without waiting for him to protest, she stood. Bodies littered the ruins of the palace, and she recognized both Imperial servants and guards and Bronzelings alike. Funny how death made everybody equal.

She didn't bother shouting; if anybody — friendly or not — were near her, then they would have heard her shouting for Summer. Instead, she snatched Summer's horn from his belt and blew long and hard. It didn't sound as elegant or as pretty as Summer could make it, but it was still ear-piercingly loud.

There was a moment of silence and an answering horn rose from the grove of trees. She tilted her head, and let out three short blasts. A long call, quickly followed by two short ones, answered her.

"There," she said smugly to Summer, "See? There's still Bronzelings alive, and they'll get us out of here. As soon as we can, we'll go see him."

Summer nodded and sank back down weakly, eyes slipping shut. Mariette sat beside him and waited. He would have to fix this; he'd fix her and he'd damn well fix her fiancé.

Besides, she didn't know what she'd do if she lost both Summer and the rebellion, for there was no doubt about what would happen should he be unable to lead it. She'd already lost too many people.

(But, in the end, hadn't it been her fault?)

It didn't matter. She wasn't losing Summer. She wouldn't let herself.


Justice

Scarlett stared at the ruined mess that was Her Imperiousness' summer palace, face carefully impassive. Inside, however, her heart was thundering. Around her, the ruins of Her Imperiousness' summer palace stretched like some kind of perverse battlefield. Even days after the fire, the wreckage was still terrifying to behold.

The wind coming off the ocean had pushed the fire further into the palace, and the fire had clearly lasted long enough to leave barely anything standing. All that remained was a scorched mausoleum, stone walls no more than three feet in height, and the odd wood pillar that had managed to survive.

The scent was nearly enough to make her feel faint, and living among the Mirthful Church had introduced Scarlett to all sorts of nasty smells.

With a huff, she turned away. She didn't need Ampora's reports to tell her that this was Bronzeling business. They'd never been very subtle.

(It amused her to know that Ampora had no idea who Mariette was, had no idea that she was both Mindfang and a powerful member of the Bronzelings. How little he knew, how little he understood.)

Realizing that she was shaking, Scarlett turned and took a deep breath. You're fine, she chided herself, You spend years working your way up at the Mirthful Church, and you can't even handle the sight of a few burnt bodies? Pitiful.

But that didn't change the fact that there were corpses everywhere. A good amount of them clutched distorted weapons decorated with the distinct Bronzeling style: cheap metal, bronze colored inlays, wings carved haphazardly into hilts.

A voice came over her shoulder, sharp and demeaning. "I wouldn't touch anything if I were you, my lady."

Scarlett turned and felt all of her nausea and fear flee in lieu of annoyance and pride. Her eyes — hidden behind her favorite red glasses — critically scanned the speaker. He was one of Ampora's men, sent to examine the site of the fire to assess the damage and to take any captives that they could. She crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows, knowing that she made an intimidating figure despite her height.

She always did her best to wear men's dress clothes that made her look terrifyingly professional. Her heels gave her a couple inches, but she'd never bothered trying to appear anything other than short. Sure enough, Ampora's man flushed and took a couple steps back.

Scarlett flashed a grin at him. She had three smiles: the small, professional one she used most when visiting Her Imperiousness' court while on Carlos' business, the wide, genuine grin that very rarely slipped out, and the viciously wicked grin she used to make grown men piss their pants.

(It didn't work on Carlos, of course, but his smile was just as terrifying as hers could be)

When she spoke, her voice was deliberately cheerful. "I think I know much more than you about what I can and cannot do."

His face was now turning an interesting shade of yellow, she noted with relish. Her love of colors had always been strong, but she'd taken more note of them since she'd met Carlos. He loved colors too, although his interest in them was a little more bloody than hers.

"Of course, my lady," he said, clearly burning at addressing the head of the Mirthful Church's secretary as "my lady". It was a good thing he thought she was only a secretary, or else he'd call her something much more insulting. "But a scene like this isn't fit for your eyes."

Scarlett sighed inwardly, although she made no outward change. She just wanted to find proof that Mindfang had been here and then get out of here. She turned away and waved an airy hand over her shoulder. "Tell that to somebody who cares," she said shortly, "Now go help your friends cart bodies away or whatever it is you're doing here."

Now he was turning slightly purple. Still, he gave the slightest bow he possibly could and muttered, "My lady."

Scarlett stalked off, taking care to step around anything that might dirty the jacket. The shoes couldn't be helped. Once she was far enough away that she could no longer feel his stare, she relaxed and started looking for signs of Mindfang in earnest.

She wasn't entirely sure what she was looking for, and she spent more time than she would have liked debating with Ampora's lackeys her right to walk in the ruins.

They were all well-bred lackeys, with Ampora's gold and purple crest on their breasts and their manners sharply professional to mirror her own. They didn't dare drag her bodily away, not when their master had ordered them to treat her as they might him.

She returned their forced politeness with a cheery give-no-fucks attitude until they just started avoiding her altogether.

Pleased, Scarlett started towards the mausoleum.

The first thing she noticed was a pile of rubble that had clearly been handled by humans. She raised her hand and beckoned to the nearest soldier. He grimaced but trotted towards her.

Scarlett asked, "Did you find any bodies here?"

He shook his head. "A couple on the other side, though."

She nodded and walked over to look. It was too hot to jog and she wasn't wearing clothes made for this weather.

Oh, the sacrifices she made to uphold her reputation.

She knelt to examine the two bodies they discovered, feeling her nausea return when she realized one was the body of a child. Both were servants, and she stood quickly. "Any—" She stopped, clearing her throat. "Was there anyone else?"

The soldier shook his head. "No, my lady."

Scarlett nodded and returned to the pile of rubbish. Heart in her throat, she began to dig. Among the ash and char, she found blood stains, and a considerable amount at that. Still, there hadn't been a body, which meant that this person had survived. The Bronzelings had left their dead unburied, as they had in dozens of battles the past several years.

They were heathens, the lot of them.

She'd just given up when she saw a scrap of metal half hidden under a log. It had clearly fallen, and its silver color blended almost perfectly with the ashes, despite all the blood. Frowning, because the scrap was shinier than even her shoes despite her care, she picked it up to examine it.

It was small, barely four inches across, but the insignia was one of the most distinctive marks in Alternia's recent history.

Scarlett dropped it as if it'd been as hot as the fire that had ravaged the palace. The image on the metal was seared into her mind. She doubted that most people would recognize it for what it was, despite its infamous history, and yet she knew exactly what it meant.

A slow grin spread across her lips, and she quickly snatched it up again. If she acted quickly, she might be able to find Mindfang before she moved on.

"Get me my horse!" she called. Her clothes would be ruined, but she'd rather have to buy a new set than lose Mindfang again.

There was no way in hell she was escaping. Not again.