AN: EEP! Hey guys, I'm sooooo sorry this took so long! College started for Hitoshi-chan, and mine starts in a week, and we've both been so busy with all the start-of-school crap and such... Sorry! With this though, I suppose we've realized we really can't keep up a steady update pace... T.T Hopefully we'll be able to get out a chapter a month. We will try! Please be patient and sorry for the long waits!
About this chapter now... So, it kinda skips around a lot to different POVs, so hopefully it doesn't get too confusing... . No Mello for now, but the pieces are starting to fall into place for the main action so bear with us! Oh, and for Near fans, didn't I tell you he'd be coming in eventually? : )
Wow... Chapter 14 and most of it's been just exposition... This is going to be epic-length isn't it? ...And we're already planning a sequel! ...hopefully. Frikkin' school... grumble grumble
Well, as always, hope you enjoy the chapter, and please review! Constructive criticism, comments, (yes, even complaining about lack of updates) whatever you want to say, we want to know, so don't be shy! : D Again, an incredible amount of thanks to all our readers and reveiwers! Thanks for being patient and taking the time to leave us your thoughts! Reviews hold great nutritional value for writers, y'know. ; )
--Tora
Dim green eyes saw the flicker of blue light disappear as the phone-- his own phone-- was shut and stored inside the pocket of the man he now knew to be named Paul. Matt watched in some kind of detached state of thought, his body too occupied with the overwhelming and all-encompassing pain that wracked his every cell to truly take in anything, as Paul's fingers loosened from their death grip around the cellular, and a blush of warm color spread over the man's white knuckles upon the release, returning the skin to its natural sun kissed complexion.
Matt did not look up to see Paul's expression, could not look up to see it. The only muscles in his body that seemed to be working at the moment were the ones that allowed him to breathe, and even those were struggling, trying desperately not to fail. With every breath of air, every expansion and contraction of his lungs, every muscle that pushed and pulled and just wouldn't stop moving, agony erupted in his chest. His head, his legs, arms, shoulders, everything was on fire, and every inhalation of air clawed at his throat on its way down, tearing little pieces of his insides off as it went, and lacing out to weave trails of agony spider webbing along his organs and sinking deep nails into everything in its path.
Every shuddering movement that came from the transferal of oxygen from air to lungs a more painful process than the last.
He would have cried out, but his voice was gone and his throat raw with the rippling memories of wave after wave of trauma, one scream after another ripped from his throat against his will.
He was positive that he would have been sick had he had anything in his stomach to get rid of, but as it was he hadn't eaten for… he wasn't sure anymore. Everything was an annoying blur, melding into each other, one event after another, until the only thing he was sure of was the pain he was feeling now.
He was sure of what had just occurred. Even if his entire body hadn't been screaming in protest, the absolute desolation that he felt told him that it hadn't been a nightmare.
That voice.
That horribly wrong voice told him it hadn't been a nightmare.
"Matt…!"
A stale gasp of air stuck in his throat, and for a few nerve-wracking moments, even his lungs refused to work under the strain they had been put through. Colorful spots danced before his vision until finally, with one great anguished heave, the burning oxygen filled his body once more, returning his sight back to him along with every ache and pain from before, now doubled.
Even the one that existed solely in his psyche. Especially that one.
He couldn't block it out, that ear shattering whisper. It kept coming to him, a steady cadence to fill the dark silence.
Matt knew. Knew what was going to happen now.
Best-case scenario, he would be used to hurt Mello, and then discarded when he was of no more use. It was what he wanted, what he desperately prayed for.
The other scenario, the one that was much more likely, and he fervently hoped against: Mello would try something stupid.
Even… if Matt was expendable, as he was slowly coming to except, this… this would be too big of a blow for Mello's pride to handle without the easily angered blonde retaliating in some way…
…and Matt would be helpless to do anything to prevent it.
To do anything to protect him…
He would be utterly and completely powerless.
Fuck…
He wasn't sure exactly what provoked what he did next, whether it was the drugs that were being routinely administered to his bloodstream, the lack of food and water, the sting of pain that shot through his entire body with every twitch, or maybe something else entirely, but it didn't matter why, really.
It did give him an idea of how desperate he was.
With nothing and no one else to turn to, he looked to the one that he had never really trusted, never really ever believed in.
It was the only thing he could do, the only option he had left.
So he closed his eyes, bowed his head, and prayed.
Prayed to a God that he had never had faith in, because even if he had never believed, Mello had, and it was enough to convince him to try.
So he prayed, and he pleaded, and he begged, because it was all he could do.
God, I don't know you… and if you are there, I don't like you… but if you do exist… if you are listening… then you know. You KNOW that he did--once--he listened, and he served, and he LOVED you, and you OWE him… so please… just this once I'm asking you, not for me, but for him…
Please keep him safe.
Crystalline blue eyes fluttered open, blinking a few times to dispose of the haziness that had come with sleep.
Hal Ridner sat up slowly in her bed, covers falling to her waist as she gave an irritated glance at the clock and the fuzzy red numbers shifted into view.
It was just past 12:30, and for a brief moment she considered letting her cellular ring, and allow herself to get some much-needed rest. They--at is to say, Near, Gevanni, and herself--had been in Washington for just about a month, and were tying up some loose ends of their most recent case before they would be heading out to the next case in a few days. Despite the simplicity of their current case, she hadn't managed to get much rest in the last couple of nights, and for once she'd gone to bed at a decent hour. Only to be awakened oh so rudely in the middle of the night.
A light scowl touched her delicate features as she ran a hand through her tangled white blonde locks and decided whether or not to answer the phone, a task that would mean getting up out of her very warm, very soft, very comfortable spot on the bed.
The fact of the matter was, there were only two people who she felt obligated to answer the phone for right now, Near and Gevanni, neither of whom were currently calling. She knew this only because she had programmed all of Near's lines to a specific ringer, and because Gevanni was sleeping peacefully in the room next door, a fact that she was certain of due to the loud reverberating snores that permeated the thin wall in between the two rooms.
In other words there was really no point to answering the phone, when all Hal really wanted to do was sleep, and judging by the number of people that even had the number of her work cell, the call was probably just a wrong number.
But on the off chance that it wasn't…
She grumbled loudly as she pulled the covers from her legs, and her feet met the cold floor. Glaring at the offending device when she reached it, she grabbed the phone and jabbed a button before lifting it to an ear and giving a somewhat demanding 'Hello', though her voice was still rough with sleep, and her irritation was lost in the soft tones that came out when she spoke.
This had better be good.
The line was silent for a moment, and she was about to hang up, when a quiet voice, unnaturally quiet, uttered her name.
Her hand froze in midair, ready to disconnect the call, and her eyes grew wide with shock.
After a few seconds of silence, she finally found her voice, and she mentally thanked her conscience for pulling her out of bed to answer, before responding to the caller's question.
"This is Hal. Mello… is that you?" She asked, despite the fact that she already knew the answer to that question. His was a voice she could never forget. A voice that for a while had haunted her, made her afraid of the simple task of answering the phone. She remembered the threats he had made on her life when he had been using her to get information from Near, a pawn in his grand scheme to end Kira and prove his superiority over the white haired boy once and for all.
Somewhere along the lines, she had realized he wasn't as bad as he pretended to be, well, as long as you didn't defy him. Their relationship had grown from one of a hunter and his prey to one of-- dare she even tentatively say-- friendship? Mutual respect, definitely, and allies of course. She could, with some cockiness, even say that she may have been one of the very small number of people in the world that Mello trusted. A notion that was proven when the ex-mafia boss had called her after the shooting just a little under two years ago, hysterical and half-demanding, half-begging her help.
And somehow, there was some extent of feeling privileged to assist Mello that was not present in her work with Near.
Which was why, the second she had recognized his voice on the phone, it alone had garnered all of her attention, and all plans of going back to sleep as soon as possible had been long forgotten.
She listened quietly as he spoke, taking in every detail, and grabbing a pen and paper off of a nearby desk to take notes. New York. Tomorrow. Apartment number… street name… she listened, hand scribbling numbers and times and places furiously, but her fingers came to a dead stop with a single word.
"...please…"
Her mind replayed the sentence over and over, trying to discern if she'd heard right, but she knew she had.
The thing was, Mello NEVER said please… and that he would say please to her, something must be wrong… very wrong.
She nodded in a sort of reassuring way then, upon realizing the futility of the action, gave a firm, "I'll be there," into the phone.
She heard a soft click as the line went dead, and she closed her cell, staring at it for a second as she tried to make sense of what had just occurred. After a minute, she shook her head in order to rid herself of useless thoughts, and stood, making her way to the closet, and pulling down a large black duffle bag.
She was glad that the last case had compensated them well. Buying tickets to New York at this time of year, and on such last minute notice was sure to be expensive.
She changed out of her nightclothes into a red sweater and black pair of jeans before beginning to pack her bags.
Void black eyes stared blankly at the soft red glow that shone rhythmically on the device before him. Along with the small blinking light, the machine emitted a low humming sound, an indication of the device's current occupied status.
A small pale boy sat in front of the machine, one knee pulled up to his chest, the other leg left to dangle freely, the boy's all white attire a strange juxtaposition against the smooth black vinyl of the computer chair in which he sat.
His eyes remained on the unmoving device before him, but all of the boy's attention was focused on the conversation going on inside of the black headset that he wore, a startling contrast in opposition to the boy's soft white curls.
The almost imperceptible movement of one eyebrow was the only sign that the white clad boy was actually a person listening to a conversation as opposed to the life size doll that he could so easily be mistaken for.
The blinking ceased, and an ashen hand rose slowly to press a switch on the inactive device before making its way up to the pallid white curls and taking one to twirl in its grasp.
Near replayed the conversation that he had just tapped over in his head, as though if he listened again, the words would make more sense.
Despite his status as the new "L," and the obvious risks that came along with such a title, Near did not make it a habit of listening in on private phone conversations. Not, at least, when said phone conversations, belonged to his most trusted and loyal subordinates.
However, he did make it a habit of monitoring from whom Gevanni and Hal received their private calls, because in a position such as his, even his most trusted and loyal subordinates could never earn his full trust, and even the smallest chance of disloyalty, could not afford to be ignored or overlooked. It was a well-justified paranoia, and one that he had made clear to the two former SPK agents, as though informing them of his invasion of their privacy would somehow lessen the severity of such an act.
Monitoring whom Hal and Gevanni spoke with on the phone was only one of the ways he maintained his own security, and while he felt no guilt at this transgression, he was somewhat reassured to learn that both Hal and Gevanni understood its necessity.
So it was without remorse that the moment he noticed Hal receiving an unknown call from a phone in New York, at 12:36 AM, or 3:36 AM the caller's time, he did not hesitate to begin a tap.
He knew that a very limited amount of people were privy to Hal's cell number. He knew that the majority of people in New York were asleep at this time of night. He also knew that any wrong number or prank call would last a maximum of 12 seconds.
For that reason, at exactly 12.1 seconds into the call, he flipped a switch and began listening.
He was not at all surprised to hear the familiar voice on the other side of the phone, but as he listened silently to the exchange of words he found himself growing more uneasy and frustrated as the conversation progressed.
Despite his foresight into the identity of the caller, he had no idea as to the reason why Mello would call Hal at 3:30 AM his time, and quietly appeal for her assistance into an unknown matter.
Mello was not quiet. Silently harsh? Yes. But he was never, never quiet. Nor did he ever ask for help. It went against everything that the blonde was.
Pale fingers released the pallid white lock that they had taken captive, and with it a few white strands of hair came loose, evidence of his growing agitation.
He would not be able to work like this.
It was on that realization that he picked up the closest phone, woke Gevanni from his noisy slumber, and requested that the man make accommodations for him and Hal to be on the soonest available flight to New York.
Hal would not be making this journey alone. Not when the perfect balance that Near had acquired in his life had been so thoroughly and completely upset.
Paul Mercado lay on his bed, amber eyes staring blankly into the darkness. Expensive down blankets were crumpled about him on the bed, haphazardly tangled around his legs as he lay on his back and watched the blackness where the ceiling should be. He didn't bother to look at the time. He knew it was late.
He just… couldn't get to sleep.
He had been restless earlier, yes, bitter and full of loathing and insatiable revenge, reliving endless moments of years past, seeing her and her lifeless mangled corpse over and over until even the satisfaction of what he was doing now had ebbed.
But then Tammy had called.
And now he couldn't sleep for different reasons entirely.
A small smile pulled at his lips in the darkness. She'd been watching, as instructed of course. And she'd recounted every detail. Every delicious detail until he could picture it himself.
It had been so good trying to imagine the expression accompanying the pathetic tones of desperation he'd heard over the phone. He considered Tammy lucky.
She said he'd been whiter than a corpse, those disgustingly perfect-blue eyes staring and terrified.
God, how Paul wished he'd seen it himself.
He wished he'd seen the way his proud back slumped in defeat, the way his throat knotted and refused to work, the way his knees gave way and he crumpled and trembled miserably, the way his hands shook and those revolting painted fingernails drew his own blood as he clenched his fists.
Tammy had said he'd been holding something in his other hand, gripping it so hard his hand bled onto the carpet.
Paul reveled for a moment in magnificent images of beautiful ruby seeping past that ghastly porcelain skin and pouring forth until there was nothing left and the wretched excuse for life fled from that silly slim form and the those sky-blue eyes turned milky and clouded and unseeing.
Even Tammy's revelation that he'd fled afterward sent chills of joy to tingle in Paul's limbs.
So the wretched little creature couldn't take it and he'd run away? How perfectly suitable and sickening. Let him run then, let him feel the terrible and utter uselessness of his cursed existence, let him wallow in his incompetence and guilt. He deserved so much more still. For taking Emilia away from him, even Hell was too kind for this bastard.
Paul let out a controlled deep breath, trying not to get too excited again. He needed to get to sleep soon, after all, and he'd never get around to it if he kept lingering on such wonderful deliberations…
But the flurry of thoughts refused to calm down, fluttering about in his head in wild, gleeful anticipation.
The real fun began tomorrow.
He'd called Tammy back home, and now she slept peacefully in a lavish room on the floor below. First, he'd gotten her our of harm's way before he initiated the real plan. He didn't need to watch anymore anyway, now that he knew the wretched thing was human enough to feel pain. His own imagination could provide satisfactory accompaniments to the hysteric terror lying just beneath the monster's words over the cellular.
He couldn't wait to hear it again; tomorrow was too far away. He drank it in, a wonderful drug that made the blood course faster and pound ecstatically in his veins, hot and euphoric.
Of course, no, it would never bring her back, it would never be enough. But after he'd accepted that fact, Paul had resolved…
He'd make it as close to enough as possible. He'd make that monster hurt so much he'd be begging for death. He'd do it slowly, toy with him, bide his time. Use his friend.
Paul's mind cast around as a dark grin played on his lips in the black room. He'd been trying to think of a good way to do it ever since he'd first laid eyes on that boy in the bar.
After today's first "session" (so to speak), after hearing those wonderful screams and the reaction they'd caused, he couldn't stop thinking about it.
Bide his time.
Do it slowly.
Give him time to really stew in all his wretchedness while he listened to his friend's suffering.
It had also recently occurred to Paul that the phone had camera and video features. How very excellent.
Ideas flooded his head and were discarded, none of them unpleasant enough. He had a plan already, but it could stand to be… made better.
There were so many ways to hurt someone.
The human body was such a fragile thing.
And so was the human mind.
He'd do it in the next four days, he'd decided. Give him that much time. The bait should be able to hold out that long.
Paul concluded he would call again sometime before noon tomorrow to explain the rules. He licked his lips subconsciously.
Oh, he couldn't wait.
Tomorrow, he'd show that bastard how serious this really was, the punishment his crimes deserved.
He'd give him four more days, give him some time to panic, and play a little each day but give him hints to his location, lure him out.
Tammy had returned absolutely certain now that the blonde bastard really did care enough to come searching for the hapless brunette.
And Paul was counting on it.
Give him a clue every day, and each would come with a price, costs written in blood and screams and that delightful note of terror in the voice which had haunted his nightmares for years.
And then on the last day, when he finally found them…
Then Paul would show him all the torment of seeing someone dear to him die miserably, slowly, excruciatingly. He'd do it in front of him, and he'd make him watch.
White grinning teeth gleamed dimly in the darkness.
Paul just couldn't wait to see the look of helplessness in those terrible blue eyes, couldn't wait to hear him squeal and whimper and beg and plead futilely.
The imaginary pitiful screams of the worthless piece of filth known as Mello filled Paul's ears with sweet satisfaction and finally coaxed him into blissful sleep, the most magnificent of lullabies.
Tomorrow, the real game began.
It was nearing two AM West Coast time when Hal finally pulled up to Sea-Tac Airport. It had taken her a little more than an hour to get all of her things together, and another twenty minutes to drive from their hotel to the airport. She'd also spent a few minutes debating whether or not she should leave Near a message, but in the end had opted simply to call him once she arrived in New York. Though somehow the notion of Near worrying about her seemed a little off, she had left a short note in her room, just in case.
Technically, the case they had been working on had been finished, and she and Gevanni had been free to go for a few days now, but it was unusual behavior for her to take off before a case was completely taken care of, let alone to leave without giving some kind of notice. Though, she knew, Near was probably already aware of her absence. Understandably, the white haired prodigy did not take security measures lightly, and other than working quietly, she hadn't bothered to try to disguise her departure anyways. Not as though she could have left without Near finding out.
Once the taxi came to a stop in front of the airport entrance, she paid quickly and hefted her duffle onto her shoulder before proceeding into the airport. Despite the late hour, the airport was still full of people waiting for flights, waiting for loved ones, and on their way home. She passed a few individuals sleeping in the waiting area and couldn't help but stifle a yawn, and then frown.
She would definitely have to sleep during the flight, much as she hated to do so. If she wanted to be in any kind of position to help once she reached Mello, she would need to get in at least a few hours of sleep before she arrived in New York.
There were only a few people in the line to buy tickets so it moved quickly, leaving her at the front of the line in no time at all. The attendant, a petite woman with dark hair pulled back into a bun, greeted her with a cheery smile before inquiring as to how she could be of service.
"I'd like to book a seat, any class, on the next available flight to New York please." Hal asked, returning the woman's smile with a tired one of her own.
The woman's smile faltered for a fraction of a second, too quick for most people to catch, though Hal was not most people, but she nodded anyway, and dutifully asked for Hal's ID.
Hal complied, brushing the woman's sudden change in expression off as a product of her own tired eyes. She handed her ID over, the one that declared her name to be Eliza Carter, a twenty eight year old resident of California, and waited for the transaction to begin.
Any and all of Hal's means of identification, that is to say, her real identification, had been burned the day she had made the decision to follow Near for the rest of her time as an agent, all save one, one that she herself did not have a copy of, but was stored somewhere that only Near himself knew of.
This time, the attendant's smile vanished and did not reappear, her eyebrows furrowing as she examined the ID a little too closely for Hal's comfort.
"Um, Miss Carter, would you mind coming with me for a moment?" The attendant asked in a tone that clearly suggested it was not a question.
Hal felt a knot of panic twist in her stomach, but she complied without question. It would not do to make a scene here, especially since she had no idea what had gone wrong.
The woman led her down a short corridor, every step allowing new doubts and worries to spring into Hal's mind, and for a minute she considered the possibility that whatever it was she had agreed to do for Mello had somehow landed her in this situation.
They made a turn down another short corridor, and all of her worries were washed away as a familiar mop of curly white hair came into view.
She let out a relieved sigh and ran a hand through her platinum blonde locks as she turned the last corner and the sight of a rather familiar pajama-clad boy eased the swiftly unraveling tension in the pit of her stomach.
Black eyes met her own for a second before glancing at the accompanying attendant, as well as a nearby security officer, and giving each a curt nod. Both the woman and officer left the scene, each a bit put-out, but agreeable nonetheless.
It was then that Hal noticed the tall form standing behind Near, and she gave a firm nod of greeting to Lester who nodded once in return, though both became attentive when Near began to speak.
"I don't like to invade the personal privacy of my agents, Hal, not without due cause, but when I saw that the phone call you received in the middle of the night was from a caller in New York, given your history, you should know that I had reason to believe I may have a vested interest in the caller. Just as much, if not more so than you do, however much he may not wish to admit it."
Hal took a moment to allow the words to sink in, and when they had, a bit of the tension from earlier rewound itself.
"You tapped the call."
It wasn't a question, not really, but Near confirmed with a nod anyway.
Had it been anyone else, she would have been upset, outraged even, but as it was, it was Near. He if anyone had good reason for such paranoia, and though the thought had escaped her at the time, she had known that he watched to see whom his agents received and made their calls to and from.
Now though, now the question was where they would go from here.
Near seemed to read her thoughts, and he shook his head once.
"I won't stop you from continuing with your plans. I, however, will be joining you. Gevanni and Lester will stay here to wrap up the case." He met Hal's eyes once more, and Hal instantly understood.
Near was shaken.
Though it wasn't obvious or displayed for the world to see, the pajama-clad prodigy was off balance. It was there, in his eyes, for her to see, and she was aware that she only saw this because he allowed her to. He was not so far gone, and she wasn't sure if he ever could be, that he had lost the delicate control that he kept over his emotions at all times.
Near was not going to keep an eye on her interactions with Mello, far from it. Something in Mello's voice must have set the white haired boy off almost as badly as it had affected her.
She nodded once in understanding, and this seemed to satisfy him. He held two small slips of paper up for her to take, and she glanced at them as she did.
Tickets.
"We leave in 30 minutes; give Lester your bags, and everything else will be taken care of."
She did as she was told, assuring Lester that Near would be well looked after, and began to follow Near down, presumably to their plane. She quickened her pace enough to walk just a step ahead of the boy, enough so that she could still follow his lead, without actually allowing him to be first. It was of course just precautionary, but she wondered exactly how it was the two appeared to strangers, walking as they did.
A mother and son perhaps? No, probably more like a brother and sister. Certainly not the world-renowned detective L, and one of his bodyguards, what with the absence of her usual black suit, and Near's spotless white pajamas.
As they walked, Hal found herself wondering exactly what it was Mello needed her for. While she had registered something off with him, she wondered what Near had heard to make him decide to fly all of the way out to New York. For what was certainly not the first time, she found herself curious about the past the two shared. All she had ever gotten out of either of them was that they had been raised together, and that Mello had always had a strong hatred for Near, simply for being ranked number one. Though as Hal watched Near's tense shoulders, a sign of his dislike of crowds, she was reminded that rivalry or not, it seemed there was a bond between the two that ran very deep.
Respect, loathing, and challenge were emotions that sometimes ran far deeper than love or friendship.
Her inner musings were halted as they boarded the plane, and she settled herself into her seat for the ride. She would not sleep, not now with Near to look after. She wouldn't have been able to even if hadn't been there, and she made a note to get a very strong coffee the minute they arrived in New York.
It was going to be a long day.
Ashen hands pulled habitually at the soft white tuft of bangs that hung at the edge of the blank-faced boy's vision. Twin orbs of glassy onyx stared unfocused at the sea of pale blue and gray that signified dawn's waking, though the sun remained cloaked behind the clouds.
Near closed his eyes solemnly for a second before opening them back up again slowly only moments later, his own manner of blinking.
His effort to keep his thoughts analytical and detached from the newly-arisen situation were quickly failing, but the increasing frequency of the periodic curling and uncurling of his hair around his finger was the only sign of his slowly crumbling nerves.
Mello was an impulsive person. He knew it to be a fact, and he mentally reminded himself of the fact over and over again, attempts at assuaging the growing unease that had taken hold of him the minute the blonde's unsteady voice had come onto the telephone line back in Washington.
The emotional blonde was also prone to overreaction, and exaggeration, both factors Near used to convince himself that whatever had occurred, or was occurring, or was going to occur, was likely not as significant as Near found himself being led to believe.
Though, Near also knew that while Mello was impulsive, overreacted to small matters, and tended to exaggerate, it took a matter of significant magnitude to provoke the blonde into asking for help.
Especially to ask of someone like Hal, a woman who, while extremely talented and among the few people that Mello respected, happened to work for Near, a fact that Mello knew well, and would have taken into consideration before making any contact with her.
Unless of course he was desperate.
And here he was again, back to where he started.
An equation that left Near with a growing knot of tension in his stomach, and a headache from a puzzle that even he could not solve.
The riddle was maddening, and for a moment it overwhelmed him, one chalky white fist curling in on itself, and straining the muscles in his hand.
But it was only for a moment, and he almost instantly ended the action, regaining his senses, and coming back to himself.
Another drawn-out blink, and his eyes were focused dully on the back of the seat before him now.
A voice on the intercom came on informing all passengers that they would be arriving in New York in just under two hours.
He pulled one of the quiz books that he had brought with him from his carry-on bag, and began to work on the most difficult crossword he could find. Far from hard, but a small challenge none the less, and a fitting distraction from the puzzle that he could not solve.
So... I hear Reviews are a great stress-relieving remedy for poor college students who happen to write fanfiction in their very little spare time... They may also be a remedy for Slow-update-pace Syndrome... It's worth a try. .