div align="left"
p dir="ltr"I lay with the battle fodder half curled in the fetal position under my arm. Dear thing, poor sweet wounded killer. He'd wept for just a moment, reigning this outburst back with tremors that shook him in my arms. He fought to hold it all it in, I wished that I could have him know that he didn't have to push the flood of tears back, but that wasn't his way. He fancies himself invulnerable to feeling hopeless things like this./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"Just what about their terrible home had my Ducky and Phil spoken of? Must have been awful, but I cannot imagine much of what went on where they came from was pleasant, yet it was their normal. Perhaps the roaring engines and the thrill of the chase might have been a rare delight. I'm not dull enough to deny that it must have been incredible fun to go fast and be fearsome, but in between those moments- Hmm./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"When I told him that I was there to listen, and he looked at me with the trusting eyes of a small boy. I still hadn't expected him to truly give me his tales of the road behind him. Hidden tales of forgotten children and wasted lives./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"He agreed, he wanted to speak only for me. Strange strange strange. Something had changed./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"Slit wasn't quite ready, he rested his head again for a little while and the only sound I could hear was his unsteady breath. Oof, he needed a shave. His chin was like cactus prickles to my collar bone./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""I- I don't remember anything before the war tower... I know It was my mum who handed me off and just popped me up on the lift to go up. Dunno if I know that 'cause I was told or what. It's shitty to think about but I don't remember anythin' so why should I care? I remember them bloodshed boys buzzing my hair off, though. An' jabbing me in the neck with the branding iron. Before that, nothin'. Might as well'ave been born right then. It only hurts real bad for a second, after that it just throbs kinda nasty for a bit..."/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"Holy seeds and blessed sprouts, this was history. emHis/em history from the very beginning. I hadn't thought for a second that he would take the offer of an open ear that literally, to tell me about the whole thing. It wasn't like a Slit to share things from the secret places in his head, but who was I to stop him?/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"He spoke of blessed childhood in a way I've never heard before. He barely cringed or gave the things he admitted a second thought, but to hear it was painful. He had to fight other children for a proper share of grub, and then said it wasn't far off from an average upbringing!/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"He looked at me once more as if he wasn't sure what I was doing when this confession had me pushing my fingers through his hair again. His eyes fell closed and he took another pause, and that's okay. He could take whatever time he needed. All we had was time and that's the beauty of being scavengers, no one to rush you around and tell you what to do./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"I think we slept for a short time like this, and I held him safe and protected like he should've been when he was small. Felt like somebody owed him that, and I was there. I'm the one who pulled him up out of the wreck, so, felt like I was the one who should./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"There were many moments when I became half awake, seeing the green things, but feeling Slit holding on tight enough to dispel the blessed illusion. If I stroked him like a tamed house critter, he only burrowed into me deeper, face pressed to my neck./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"He's always demanded attention when he wanted it, but never like this. He never needed it as if he might be swept away if he didn't have something, or better, someone to hold onto. I must admit, it frightened me a little./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"When the sun rose, I left the place of my birth to fetch water for thirsty mouths and dirty skin. Duck was already awake when I returned, just looking into the palms of his hands as if for answers until I got his attention. We sat and washed our faces in the quiet of the morning, and he spoke for me again./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""...He was small, pathetic. No one liked listening to him talk, I didn't either, but it was better than being alone. Anything is better than that..." He said softly, quieter and more gently than any words spoken before or since. He talked of a brother, a boy whose name I've heard him spit like a terrible curse. Nux, who had been like the other side of the old world coin for Slit./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"It was like walking through the path he took in growing from boy to... Well, not quite a man. It felt like Joe kept them all young in the head, too young to question him. Slit tried to tell me the things he felt as he grew to know that all he was and all he'd ever be was a warrior, and to expect the same from those around him. He wasn't good at putting a name to the things he felt. He could describe pain, his guts grinding and churning up bile, pangs of fear and the stabbing feeling in your chest when you've been through it all too much. He told a tale of worry and disappointment in knowing that the one he was obligated to spend this warrior life with wasn't made for war./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"I wondered if he'd ever be able to leave the past behind him. It's not like I could expect him to do so without being a hypocrite. With green leaves and gripping vines threatening my sanity every day, how could I claim that I've left my own history behind? Maybe, the act of saving him had been a feeble attempt to rescue myself. In order to save my sanity, I had inspired it in him. I made him question his world for the benefit of my own. He always said he'd make me regret pulling him from that wreck, I didn't, but I was questioning my reasons for it. Doing the right thing for wrong reasons, is that as bad as making a hurtful mistake with good intentions? Is it even enough to have good intentions?/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"His hand felt huge between both of my own, so big and rough and abused though years of violence, but I knew that I may as well have been holding a lost kid's fingers while he told me his name. People aren't made of rubber, they're not like tires that you could just replace. Joe Moore just hadn't been capable of understanding this./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"Slit kept talking, I kept holding his hand. He spoke of disease and the way others died young around himself and his partner, the way it felt to watch Nux slowly begin to fade into the space between life and the place beyond. People would die in their beds at night, some survived more on blood transfusions than they did on food or drink./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"Helplessness. He spoke of helplessness but couldn't identify or rationalize the feeling, he just didn't know how. I tried to do it for him, tell him that he wasn't bad for not knowing what to do because no one taught him how to cope./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"He told me that as Nux got worse he used to carve the feeling away, and I didn't understand at first. The word kept coming up, something would happen, and he'd "carve it out of his head" he'd say. Carving, carving, carving it all away. He must have seen the confusion in my eyes, so he pulled our hands apart and turned his arm for me between us, his callused fingers tracing the keloids and scarification which formed images in his skin. Oh, I'd known that he'd done these himself, but the reasons never quite added up. I was tempted to ask, there had been many times that things weren't so good between us, or our situation wasn't all good in a general sense. I wondered if he had carved away the feelings then too, in those moments when he had the privacy. This nasty suspicion had my gut twisted up into knots./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""Are they all so old, from before I dug you up from the sand?" I asked carefully, my palm swiping over the tightly grouped doodles in the flesh before pushing my fingers between his own to link our hands again. His face reddened, I wasn't sure if it was from the question or the way I had touched his skin./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"He shrugged, the tight line of his lips which accompanied the gesture told me that he had done this ritual at some point since I'd met him. I hadn't seen anything new, and while I've spied him in the nude plenty it's not like I spent any time scrutinizing him while he shed clothes with his back facing me. He must have done it somewhere I don't see, during the moments when I'm not paying attention./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"His fingers curled and fidgeted between my own. The conversation had made him uncomfortable. Though it could be the hangover, I was queasy too, made my throat tight picturin' him with a blade to his skin for any reason besides bein' creative. I wanted to believe some of the doodles were artist's scratchings on the only long lasting surface available to him and nothing more. I'd always thought he wanted to carry his scribbles with him wherever he went./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"I couldn't understand how pain could alleviate pain. How does that work?/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"I wanted to see what hadn't yet known the light. What had he etched into his flesh during our shared time? The old cuttings depicted life as a war boy from Slit's perspective. Cars, tools, parts, bang sticks, blades, bones, gods, and men dying for them. What does life as a Scav look like to him?/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""Can I see?"/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"He looked at me, mouth popped open and snapped shut a few times until his free hand scrubbed through his hair. Duck was hesitating, turning his eyes away now. He looked embarrassed, of what? Slit never seemed ashamed of me looking at, or caressing, his other scarred bits. Maybe something was different about the new things, maybe it was too personal, maybe I'd be able to tell which healing marks related to specific moments of hell that we'd endured./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"Yeah, that sounded about right. Not sure I'd want to share that either./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""Hey, um, Duck? I'm... Dune is real beat from last night an' you're tired. C'n see that long boring drive wearin' on ya. Sun ain't even shinin' bright yet, so let's sleep this off. Yeah? No? Gonna go quick to grab us a proper blanket out of the car."/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""I can do it."/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"He began to rise, and without warning I wanted to move, escape, think about what he'd told me outside of this musty container./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""Nah nah! I'll get it. Need the air anyways."/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"The former war boy sat again, the cringe of his lips and the way he clutched at his head said it all. I'd just made it worse, saying I needed to be out of the room./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""Forkin' hell." I muttered on my way out, too quiet for him to hear I think./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"Ah, neither of us are good at this./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"I was still having a hard time making sense of it, bleeding and slicing yourself to chase away ugly feelings, although, it's not like my coping mechanisms are lovely moments of sipping tea in the sunshine./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"I could remember the years before Slit. Itching for something, anything to feel alive./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"emBang bang bang. Nothing quite like being the nastiest longshot in /em emscav/em em country. Travelers beware, trigger finger itchy and eyes sharp, don't show off your shiny scrap near me too much. Eyes are green. Bang bang bang./em/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"Not that much has changed. I'm still a right nasty beasty to people who wander too close to my homestead. Usually, now days, they never live long enough to know that they've become target practice. Slit and I blow through resources too fast to dilly dally with an opportunity. Before him, when it was just me I was feedin', I used to make a game of it. I'd watch down my scope as trespassers ran for cover, I'd keep them pinned down for days, watch them get the thirst crazies. I even went so far as to insist that the killin' I do is a survival necessity, and it is, just didn't think the manner of it mattered much./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"emYou're a hypocrite, Dune. Maybe, but it was fun./em/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"Ah, fuck! I just hadn't expected this trip to pan put the way it did. I didn't know! How was I supposed to know Ardith was still kicking!? Holy shit, and married to somebody Slit grew up with. What are the fuckin-forkin' odds of that?/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"This wasn't supposed to be spiritual madness and an emotional vomitorium, this was supposed to be a point proven. The green place is real but dead, and being brought here was supposed to prove that to Slit somehow. After that, I'm not sure what the next step was supposed to be. Begging for a mercy killing? The juxtaposing intent, it was enough to inspire a new headache. I had wanted to die in that moment when speech returned, but I had saved Slit, prevented him from traveling to the next realm on a few occasions./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"I don't know that he's ever been suicidal, but ready for death, I'm certain he's longed for the end now and then, desired for his Valhalla./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"I thought about this the whole way back to where we parked Shirley. Seeds and Sprouts, I sucked at this. I could almost see it in my mind as I rummaged around the car, that at the same point in past time when I was laying there covered in blisters and dying from the core out, Slit was carving away the desolate horror of his upbringing. I couldn't understand! I couldn't force the jigsaw of fragments to fit together. How does pain cure pain?! What does pain do besides hurt?! What good does hurt do?/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"Everything outside the womb hurts, but we shouldn't ask for more pain./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"I was crushing the blanket in my hands, as if it was the thought, as if I was trying to compress the idea of it down into something small and simple enough to fit into my head./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"But for Slit, my Ducky, my emfriend/em... I could try. I could try to understand him./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"He's asked so many questions in our time, but he's never asked why, why I had to save him. I thank the goddesses for that, because I know I'd never be able to begin explaining how his scarred face stopped me in my tracks when I meant to cut open his throat and send him off to his Valhalla. How do you tell someone that you were just too curious of them to let them die proper? I can't give him such an unsatisfying catharsis to this, to us./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"I just... I had only wanted to know how such a creature could come to exist, I didn't count on caring for him, that it would become this. Slit's pain became my pain. How could I know that would happen?/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"It was then I decided I could not die here, not after this. Suicide to reach a reborn green wasn't an option when I had so much left to do, things to teach, wounds to help stitch closed. Slit needed me alive, he said so himself, though his reasoning for it was probably more than the words he'd spoken in the car on the journey here./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"My sweetest friend, I've been a emshit/em to you. Good goddesses, I'm so sorry. How could I believe that I was justified in abandoning you for emerald heavens when you, who had tried so hard to understand me from the very start, still needed me there with you?/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"How could I?! So we fought and screamed and cursed, but we understood that we get what we give, and that sometimes the bad has to come forth in terrible, violent ways, but trust that the other could take it. We could take it and forgive it. That's our shared gift./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"I cried in the Impala, weeping hard. Harder than the times since my old beautiful body had been marred by vindictive flames. I wasn't lying to him, I really had needed the time and the air to think, to absorb it, his awful, terrifying youth. It was like a punch to the gut, I knew it was bad but to hear it is like being there too./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"I needed to grieve for his childhood and the methods he had to use to cope, but I knew the way he paled wherever he saw tears. I've seen the look on his face. When I cried he never knew what to say, what to feel, so his head would just stall out. I couldn't burden him with that again, not now./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"Were doomed, destined to be reduced to desication and decay unless we can face the harsh realities of our lives, the things which create the true self. We are violent and homely. Ducky and I, we're made of nitrous oxide and dynamite, dangerous, beautiful, ugly, evil, benevolent. We're both all of the above and the pieces of us fit in unexpected ways, time to admit that and just be there for him./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"I left Shirley with shaking legs, the blanket hugged tight to my chest. The path toward my childhood home seemed shorter than it ever had before. What do I say? Before I knew it, the sun was bright enough to shine through the open doorway and illuminate Slit as he looked at me, and I looked at him. I'd never seen anyone look so lost./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""Let us get nice an' comfy an' have a nap, Duck." I said with a smile. At the very least, it seemed to distract him from my red, wet face./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"I dropped the blanket into his lap and began pulling his shirt up over his head, vest and all coming with it. There was nowhere to wash it, but I tossed it aside as if there was. Next came my own outer layers, Mama's vest, my pullover, my belt and knife. All that was left was my trousers and the tank top I wore under everything. I could just throw the covers over Slit, which I did, and he nodded. He wanted the rest, or perhaps the comfort of the ritual./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"I considered simply giving him my hand to link us together, but when he looked at me like he couldn't believe that I'd give it to him without struggle, it became easy to give in to habit./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"I laughed, sang, and raved. Slit growled and bitched./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"At some point he managed to trick me, prodding at my side to make me flail in most ridiculous laughter so that he could grab my wrist and slip the leather cord over my hand like a noose./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"Eventually there was no option but to settle, Slit certainly gave me no choice. He was sure to remind me that the nap had been my idea to start with./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""I dunno how I put up with your bull!" He sneered. I only bothered to shove at him to let me get more comfortable on my side without him leaning into me to calm fidgety limbs./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""Because I remind you to eat, and bathe, and drink, and do yir basic self care. Really, I'm just a glorified clock, ain't I?"/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""The fuck's a clock?"/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""Ah, nevermind, Ducky. Sleep."/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""Yeah Yeah."/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"He lay there so still and quiet, the only indication that he still lived was the hot breath against the back of my head. The time passed, my headache kept me awake, and from the sound of his breathing I could tell that sleep evaded him as well./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"It came like an itch that needed a good scratch. That's curiosity, it niggles and nags until you can't stand to hold your hand back. I needed to know what was going on in his head./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""What are ya thinkin' about?" I asked./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"He shifted oddly, like he was caught doing something I might snap at him about. I knew how to get him talking, but the act felt deeply manipulative. I took the hand I was bound to and pulled it to both draw his arm tighter around me and to bring his fingers to my lips./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"The way the air came and left his chest changed, he drew in a gulp of it quick, then let it go in a slow sigh./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"Gods I'm evil, poor man-boy, so easy to sway with nothing more than a kind touch./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""Just... Why do you like my cut-ups so much anyway? Why do you touch um?"/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"Well, this I had to turn around for. His eyes weren't glassy with new tears, thankfully, but that lost look was there on his face again. It was a cold reminder of the days just after he was strong enough to sit up and see that his leg was missing. A lost soul./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""Because, it's you? I touch emyou./em They're a part of you, aren't they? Slit?"/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"They're his scars, his doodles, they were emhis./em Why was he looking away, chewing the loose skin of his chapped lips. Oh, Ducky./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""I guess... But."/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""But what?"/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""Why me?"/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""That's... That's a complicated question with an uncertain answer."/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"It's a variation on the very question I had dreaded on my way to the car to fetch our things. Shit, my heart was going nuts, and this close I knew he could feel it. What do I tell him? The truth as I saw it? If I tried to think my way back, all of the reasoning at the time got fuzzy, mixed up, but one thing stood out in the memory. It was his ugly ass grin and how much it had pleased me./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""I- Slit... It's because, I don't know, you're different, ya looked different, aside from tasty you smelled different even. And then you smiled up at me, I had my knife snug against your jugular, but you were grinnin' like mad. Couldn't jus' leave ya to rot after that... Yir like me."/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"I think that was an honest answer, it felt right./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""Oh." Was all he said for a minute. Couldn't be sure my words were well received, but I could still feel his forehead and nose against my temple and cheek respectively. "How so?"/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""How so what?" Dumb of me, forgetting what I just said./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""How the hell am I like emyou/em?"/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"Another pause, another thought. How was he like me? I twisted in his grip, slipping my hand from the leather cord to smile back at him with the sharp and yellows. He had to lean back a bit to see. Its funny, he's far sighted, so he can't see things close. Made sense, I depend on my scope. Warriors like him raised up in the shameful pit probably don't know such luxuries./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""Busted up and smilin' ugly. Dune thinks maybe she made up a lot of excuses, but mostly just... Lookin' at you is like lookin' into some weird mirror."/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"I lay my head back down to watch him. He seemed to be thinking again, maybe absorbing it, that some nutter took him home for silly ass reasons./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""So, I could'a just been maggot food."/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""Yeah, but yir not. Dune's real glad she didn't turn ya into grub, Slit. Real glad."/p
/div
p dir="ltr"He seemed frozen there, looking at his newly freed hand. Again, he gazed into his palm as if there should be an answer held in it, like his fingers should be curled around something./p
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"I know why it hurt, why I wanted to cry. Because its bloody humiliating, opening that door to let somebody know the reasons for things. And if my small admission made me want to hide under a rock, talking about all his history must have practically killed Slit./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"I'd still rather eat sand than let the reality of this world reach me. There's so many reasons to be sad, grace of green I just wanted to focus on the good, however hard it was to find./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""Hey." He turned his eyes back up as I spoke. I dared, not because of the scars but because his face itself pleased me, to lift my hand and trace the outline of his cheekbone and jaw. He shivered, as if cold. "We're alive, ain't quite rusted out yet. Ain't alone either... You're right, it's better not to be alone. It's so much better."/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"He seemed to cringe at that and I nearly drew my hand away, ready to roll over because I was sure that I had stepped over a line that I hadn't known was there. Slit was faster, reaching for his face and flattening my hand between it and his palm./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""Dune, how long were you on your own?"/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"That came from nowhere, an abrupt road away from his history. It made my insides feel hot and dry, grinding together. It's not something I remember fondly, the days in the silence of the caverns./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""I dunno duck. Dune would need to look at the wall where she counts days."/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""You marked finding me with red. The other red spot way before that, that's your mum, ain't it?"/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"I didn't want to answer, I felt far off in some other realm away from here. "Yes." I said anyway, mechanical like, the same way Shirley lurches forward in a hurry when Slit lead-foots the guzz pedal./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""I counted once, that's six of your years."/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""Yeah."/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""Holy emshit/em, Dune. That uh... That explains some things."/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""I guess." /p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"I knew that was emwhy/em we were here, didn't mean I wanted to talk about it. That was probably the point of the trip, because I don't talk about things, I just bury them because it's easier. Much simpler a matter to try fixing somebody else rather than yourself. When I looked back at him, I expected him to be in a state of recoil, pulling away because that's what any sensible person would do. He wasn't doing that, he was in mid yawn when turned my head and a moment later propped up on his elbow, just lookin' at me with this weird, serious face. It was odd because there wasn't a trace of anger or annoyance in the glare. He still had a hold on my hand too, pad of his thumb playing with the tendons behind my knuckles. Not sure what to make of that./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""Don't really feel up to sleeping."/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"I've heard that before, usually nights when he woke up swinging and rolling around, dragging me by the wrist with him as he flopped about. He's always had those tricky dreams. Usually he'd get up and do something under Shirley's hood to get his mind off it. Couldn't do much of that delicate nature out here. Another problem was, I don't think he's gotten more then ten hours sleep in the last three days./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""Ah, well, laying down for a bit may still put the pep back in yir step, Ducky."/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""Mm. Maybe."/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""Slit? Has Dune ever told you that she hasn't chundered since she was a wee sprout?"/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""No, that's fucking weird, though."/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"I was having that sudden hot feeling all over and the burning sensation of stomach sludge crawling up my chest. Yeah, that long, proud record for my steel constitution was over. I foolishly swore that I'd ever drink another drop of home brew./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"Ever bright Ducky, he was shoving the bucket under my face. So helpful/p
/div
p dir="ltr"I lay with the battle fodder half curled in the fetal position under my arm. Dear thing, poor sweet wounded killer. He'd wept for just a moment, reigning this outburst back with tremors that shook him in my arms. He fought to hold it all it in, I wished that I could have him know that he didn't have to push the flood of tears back, but that wasn't his way. He fancies himself invulnerable to feeling hopeless things like this./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"Just what about their terrible home had my Ducky and Phil spoken of? Must have been awful, but I cannot imagine much of what went on where they came from was pleasant, yet it was their normal. Perhaps the roaring engines and the thrill of the chase might have been a rare delight. I'm not dull enough to deny that it must have been incredible fun to go fast and be fearsome, but in between those moments- Hmm./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"When I told him that I was there to listen, and he looked at me with the trusting eyes of a small boy. I still hadn't expected him to truly give me his tales of the road behind him. Hidden tales of forgotten children and wasted lives./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"He agreed, he wanted to speak only for me. Strange strange strange. Something had changed./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"Slit wasn't quite ready, he rested his head again for a little while and the only sound I could hear was his unsteady breath. Oof, he needed a shave. His chin was like cactus prickles to my collar bone./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""I- I don't remember anything before the war tower... I know It was my mum who handed me off and just popped me up on the lift to go up. Dunno if I know that 'cause I was told or what. It's shitty to think about but I don't remember anythin' so why should I care? I remember them bloodshed boys buzzing my hair off, though. An' jabbing me in the neck with the branding iron. Before that, nothin'. Might as well'ave been born right then. It only hurts real bad for a second, after that it just throbs kinda nasty for a bit..."/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"Holy seeds and blessed sprouts, this was history. emHis/em history from the very beginning. I hadn't thought for a second that he would take the offer of an open ear that literally, to tell me about the whole thing. It wasn't like a Slit to share things from the secret places in his head, but who was I to stop him?/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"He spoke of blessed childhood in a way I've never heard before. He barely cringed or gave the things he admitted a second thought, but to hear it was painful. He had to fight other children for a proper share of grub, and then said it wasn't far off from an average upbringing!/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"He looked at me once more as if he wasn't sure what I was doing when this confession had me pushing my fingers through his hair again. His eyes fell closed and he took another pause, and that's okay. He could take whatever time he needed. All we had was time and that's the beauty of being scavengers, no one to rush you around and tell you what to do./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"I think we slept for a short time like this, and I held him safe and protected like he should've been when he was small. Felt like somebody owed him that, and I was there. I'm the one who pulled him up out of the wreck, so, felt like I was the one who should./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"There were many moments when I became half awake, seeing the green things, but feeling Slit holding on tight enough to dispel the blessed illusion. If I stroked him like a tamed house critter, he only burrowed into me deeper, face pressed to my neck./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"He's always demanded attention when he wanted it, but never like this. He never needed it as if he might be swept away if he didn't have something, or better, someone to hold onto. I must admit, it frightened me a little./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"When the sun rose, I left the place of my birth to fetch water for thirsty mouths and dirty skin. Duck was already awake when I returned, just looking into the palms of his hands as if for answers until I got his attention. We sat and washed our faces in the quiet of the morning, and he spoke for me again./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""...He was small, pathetic. No one liked listening to him talk, I didn't either, but it was better than being alone. Anything is better than that..." He said softly, quieter and more gently than any words spoken before or since. He talked of a brother, a boy whose name I've heard him spit like a terrible curse. Nux, who had been like the other side of the old world coin for Slit./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"It was like walking through the path he took in growing from boy to... Well, not quite a man. It felt like Joe kept them all young in the head, too young to question him. Slit tried to tell me the things he felt as he grew to know that all he was and all he'd ever be was a warrior, and to expect the same from those around him. He wasn't good at putting a name to the things he felt. He could describe pain, his guts grinding and churning up bile, pangs of fear and the stabbing feeling in your chest when you've been through it all too much. He told a tale of worry and disappointment in knowing that the one he was obligated to spend this warrior life with wasn't made for war./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"I wondered if he'd ever be able to leave the past behind him. It's not like I could expect him to do so without being a hypocrite. With green leaves and gripping vines threatening my sanity every day, how could I claim that I've left my own history behind? Maybe, the act of saving him had been a feeble attempt to rescue myself. In order to save my sanity, I had inspired it in him. I made him question his world for the benefit of my own. He always said he'd make me regret pulling him from that wreck, I didn't, but I was questioning my reasons for it. Doing the right thing for wrong reasons, is that as bad as making a hurtful mistake with good intentions? Is it even enough to have good intentions?/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"His hand felt huge between both of my own, so big and rough and abused though years of violence, but I knew that I may as well have been holding a lost kid's fingers while he told me his name. People aren't made of rubber, they're not like tires that you could just replace. Joe Moore just hadn't been capable of understanding this./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"Slit kept talking, I kept holding his hand. He spoke of disease and the way others died young around himself and his partner, the way it felt to watch Nux slowly begin to fade into the space between life and the place beyond. People would die in their beds at night, some survived more on blood transfusions than they did on food or drink./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"Helplessness. He spoke of helplessness but couldn't identify or rationalize the feeling, he just didn't know how. I tried to do it for him, tell him that he wasn't bad for not knowing what to do because no one taught him how to cope./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"He told me that as Nux got worse he used to carve the feeling away, and I didn't understand at first. The word kept coming up, something would happen, and he'd "carve it out of his head" he'd say. Carving, carving, carving it all away. He must have seen the confusion in my eyes, so he pulled our hands apart and turned his arm for me between us, his callused fingers tracing the keloids and scarification which formed images in his skin. Oh, I'd known that he'd done these himself, but the reasons never quite added up. I was tempted to ask, there had been many times that things weren't so good between us, or our situation wasn't all good in a general sense. I wondered if he had carved away the feelings then too, in those moments when he had the privacy. This nasty suspicion had my gut twisted up into knots./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""Are they all so old, from before I dug you up from the sand?" I asked carefully, my palm swiping over the tightly grouped doodles in the flesh before pushing my fingers between his own to link our hands again. His face reddened, I wasn't sure if it was from the question or the way I had touched his skin./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"He shrugged, the tight line of his lips which accompanied the gesture told me that he had done this ritual at some point since I'd met him. I hadn't seen anything new, and while I've spied him in the nude plenty it's not like I spent any time scrutinizing him while he shed clothes with his back facing me. He must have done it somewhere I don't see, during the moments when I'm not paying attention./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"His fingers curled and fidgeted between my own. The conversation had made him uncomfortable. Though it could be the hangover, I was queasy too, made my throat tight picturin' him with a blade to his skin for any reason besides bein' creative. I wanted to believe some of the doodles were artist's scratchings on the only long lasting surface available to him and nothing more. I'd always thought he wanted to carry his scribbles with him wherever he went./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"I couldn't understand how pain could alleviate pain. How does that work?/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"I wanted to see what hadn't yet known the light. What had he etched into his flesh during our shared time? The old cuttings depicted life as a war boy from Slit's perspective. Cars, tools, parts, bang sticks, blades, bones, gods, and men dying for them. What does life as a Scav look like to him?/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""Can I see?"/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"He looked at me, mouth popped open and snapped shut a few times until his free hand scrubbed through his hair. Duck was hesitating, turning his eyes away now. He looked embarrassed, of what? Slit never seemed ashamed of me looking at, or caressing, his other scarred bits. Maybe something was different about the new things, maybe it was too personal, maybe I'd be able to tell which healing marks related to specific moments of hell that we'd endured./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"Yeah, that sounded about right. Not sure I'd want to share that either./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""Hey, um, Duck? I'm... Dune is real beat from last night an' you're tired. C'n see that long boring drive wearin' on ya. Sun ain't even shinin' bright yet, so let's sleep this off. Yeah? No? Gonna go quick to grab us a proper blanket out of the car."/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""I can do it."/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"He began to rise, and without warning I wanted to move, escape, think about what he'd told me outside of this musty container./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""Nah nah! I'll get it. Need the air anyways."/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"The former war boy sat again, the cringe of his lips and the way he clutched at his head said it all. I'd just made it worse, saying I needed to be out of the room./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""Forkin' hell." I muttered on my way out, too quiet for him to hear I think./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"Ah, neither of us are good at this./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"I was still having a hard time making sense of it, bleeding and slicing yourself to chase away ugly feelings, although, it's not like my coping mechanisms are lovely moments of sipping tea in the sunshine./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"I could remember the years before Slit. Itching for something, anything to feel alive./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"emBang bang bang. Nothing quite like being the nastiest longshot in /em emscav/em em country. Travelers beware, trigger finger itchy and eyes sharp, don't show off your shiny scrap near me too much. Eyes are green. Bang bang bang./em/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"Not that much has changed. I'm still a right nasty beasty to people who wander too close to my homestead. Usually, now days, they never live long enough to know that they've become target practice. Slit and I blow through resources too fast to dilly dally with an opportunity. Before him, when it was just me I was feedin', I used to make a game of it. I'd watch down my scope as trespassers ran for cover, I'd keep them pinned down for days, watch them get the thirst crazies. I even went so far as to insist that the killin' I do is a survival necessity, and it is, just didn't think the manner of it mattered much./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"emYou're a hypocrite, Dune. Maybe, but it was fun./em/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"Ah, fuck! I just hadn't expected this trip to pan put the way it did. I didn't know! How was I supposed to know Ardith was still kicking!? Holy shit, and married to somebody Slit grew up with. What are the fuckin-forkin' odds of that?/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"This wasn't supposed to be spiritual madness and an emotional vomitorium, this was supposed to be a point proven. The green place is real but dead, and being brought here was supposed to prove that to Slit somehow. After that, I'm not sure what the next step was supposed to be. Begging for a mercy killing? The juxtaposing intent, it was enough to inspire a new headache. I had wanted to die in that moment when speech returned, but I had saved Slit, prevented him from traveling to the next realm on a few occasions./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"I don't know that he's ever been suicidal, but ready for death, I'm certain he's longed for the end now and then, desired for his Valhalla./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"I thought about this the whole way back to where we parked Shirley. Seeds and Sprouts, I sucked at this. I could almost see it in my mind as I rummaged around the car, that at the same point in past time when I was laying there covered in blisters and dying from the core out, Slit was carving away the desolate horror of his upbringing. I couldn't understand! I couldn't force the jigsaw of fragments to fit together. How does pain cure pain?! What does pain do besides hurt?! What good does hurt do?/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"Everything outside the womb hurts, but we shouldn't ask for more pain./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"I was crushing the blanket in my hands, as if it was the thought, as if I was trying to compress the idea of it down into something small and simple enough to fit into my head./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"But for Slit, my Ducky, my emfriend/em... I could try. I could try to understand him./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"He's asked so many questions in our time, but he's never asked why, why I had to save him. I thank the goddesses for that, because I know I'd never be able to begin explaining how his scarred face stopped me in my tracks when I meant to cut open his throat and send him off to his Valhalla. How do you tell someone that you were just too curious of them to let them die proper? I can't give him such an unsatisfying catharsis to this, to us./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"I just... I had only wanted to know how such a creature could come to exist, I didn't count on caring for him, that it would become this. Slit's pain became my pain. How could I know that would happen?/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"It was then I decided I could not die here, not after this. Suicide to reach a reborn green wasn't an option when I had so much left to do, things to teach, wounds to help stitch closed. Slit needed me alive, he said so himself, though his reasoning for it was probably more than the words he'd spoken in the car on the journey here./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"My sweetest friend, I've been a emshit/em to you. Good goddesses, I'm so sorry. How could I believe that I was justified in abandoning you for emerald heavens when you, who had tried so hard to understand me from the very start, still needed me there with you?/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"How could I?! So we fought and screamed and cursed, but we understood that we get what we give, and that sometimes the bad has to come forth in terrible, violent ways, but trust that the other could take it. We could take it and forgive it. That's our shared gift./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"I cried in the Impala, weeping hard. Harder than the times since my old beautiful body had been marred by vindictive flames. I wasn't lying to him, I really had needed the time and the air to think, to absorb it, his awful, terrifying youth. It was like a punch to the gut, I knew it was bad but to hear it is like being there too./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"I needed to grieve for his childhood and the methods he had to use to cope, but I knew the way he paled wherever he saw tears. I've seen the look on his face. When I cried he never knew what to say, what to feel, so his head would just stall out. I couldn't burden him with that again, not now./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"Were doomed, destined to be reduced to desication and decay unless we can face the harsh realities of our lives, the things which create the true self. We are violent and homely. Ducky and I, we're made of nitrous oxide and dynamite, dangerous, beautiful, ugly, evil, benevolent. We're both all of the above and the pieces of us fit in unexpected ways, time to admit that and just be there for him./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"I left Shirley with shaking legs, the blanket hugged tight to my chest. The path toward my childhood home seemed shorter than it ever had before. What do I say? Before I knew it, the sun was bright enough to shine through the open doorway and illuminate Slit as he looked at me, and I looked at him. I'd never seen anyone look so lost./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""Let us get nice an' comfy an' have a nap, Duck." I said with a smile. At the very least, it seemed to distract him from my red, wet face./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"I dropped the blanket into his lap and began pulling his shirt up over his head, vest and all coming with it. There was nowhere to wash it, but I tossed it aside as if there was. Next came my own outer layers, Mama's vest, my pullover, my belt and knife. All that was left was my trousers and the tank top I wore under everything. I could just throw the covers over Slit, which I did, and he nodded. He wanted the rest, or perhaps the comfort of the ritual./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"I considered simply giving him my hand to link us together, but when he looked at me like he couldn't believe that I'd give it to him without struggle, it became easy to give in to habit./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"I laughed, sang, and raved. Slit growled and bitched./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"At some point he managed to trick me, prodding at my side to make me flail in most ridiculous laughter so that he could grab my wrist and slip the leather cord over my hand like a noose./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"Eventually there was no option but to settle, Slit certainly gave me no choice. He was sure to remind me that the nap had been my idea to start with./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""I dunno how I put up with your bull!" He sneered. I only bothered to shove at him to let me get more comfortable on my side without him leaning into me to calm fidgety limbs./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""Because I remind you to eat, and bathe, and drink, and do yir basic self care. Really, I'm just a glorified clock, ain't I?"/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""The fuck's a clock?"/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""Ah, nevermind, Ducky. Sleep."/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""Yeah Yeah."/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"He lay there so still and quiet, the only indication that he still lived was the hot breath against the back of my head. The time passed, my headache kept me awake, and from the sound of his breathing I could tell that sleep evaded him as well./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"It came like an itch that needed a good scratch. That's curiosity, it niggles and nags until you can't stand to hold your hand back. I needed to know what was going on in his head./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""What are ya thinkin' about?" I asked./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"He shifted oddly, like he was caught doing something I might snap at him about. I knew how to get him talking, but the act felt deeply manipulative. I took the hand I was bound to and pulled it to both draw his arm tighter around me and to bring his fingers to my lips./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"The way the air came and left his chest changed, he drew in a gulp of it quick, then let it go in a slow sigh./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"Gods I'm evil, poor man-boy, so easy to sway with nothing more than a kind touch./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""Just... Why do you like my cut-ups so much anyway? Why do you touch um?"/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"Well, this I had to turn around for. His eyes weren't glassy with new tears, thankfully, but that lost look was there on his face again. It was a cold reminder of the days just after he was strong enough to sit up and see that his leg was missing. A lost soul./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""Because, it's you? I touch emyou./em They're a part of you, aren't they? Slit?"/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"They're his scars, his doodles, they were emhis./em Why was he looking away, chewing the loose skin of his chapped lips. Oh, Ducky./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""I guess... But."/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""But what?"/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""Why me?"/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""That's... That's a complicated question with an uncertain answer."/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"It's a variation on the very question I had dreaded on my way to the car to fetch our things. Shit, my heart was going nuts, and this close I knew he could feel it. What do I tell him? The truth as I saw it? If I tried to think my way back, all of the reasoning at the time got fuzzy, mixed up, but one thing stood out in the memory. It was his ugly ass grin and how much it had pleased me./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""I- Slit... It's because, I don't know, you're different, ya looked different, aside from tasty you smelled different even. And then you smiled up at me, I had my knife snug against your jugular, but you were grinnin' like mad. Couldn't jus' leave ya to rot after that... Yir like me."/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"I think that was an honest answer, it felt right./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""Oh." Was all he said for a minute. Couldn't be sure my words were well received, but I could still feel his forehead and nose against my temple and cheek respectively. "How so?"/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""How so what?" Dumb of me, forgetting what I just said./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""How the hell am I like emyou/em?"/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"Another pause, another thought. How was he like me? I twisted in his grip, slipping my hand from the leather cord to smile back at him with the sharp and yellows. He had to lean back a bit to see. Its funny, he's far sighted, so he can't see things close. Made sense, I depend on my scope. Warriors like him raised up in the shameful pit probably don't know such luxuries./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""Busted up and smilin' ugly. Dune thinks maybe she made up a lot of excuses, but mostly just... Lookin' at you is like lookin' into some weird mirror."/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"I lay my head back down to watch him. He seemed to be thinking again, maybe absorbing it, that some nutter took him home for silly ass reasons./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""So, I could'a just been maggot food."/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""Yeah, but yir not. Dune's real glad she didn't turn ya into grub, Slit. Real glad."/p
/div
p dir="ltr"He seemed frozen there, looking at his newly freed hand. Again, he gazed into his palm as if there should be an answer held in it, like his fingers should be curled around something./p
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"I know why it hurt, why I wanted to cry. Because its bloody humiliating, opening that door to let somebody know the reasons for things. And if my small admission made me want to hide under a rock, talking about all his history must have practically killed Slit./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"I'd still rather eat sand than let the reality of this world reach me. There's so many reasons to be sad, grace of green I just wanted to focus on the good, however hard it was to find./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""Hey." He turned his eyes back up as I spoke. I dared, not because of the scars but because his face itself pleased me, to lift my hand and trace the outline of his cheekbone and jaw. He shivered, as if cold. "We're alive, ain't quite rusted out yet. Ain't alone either... You're right, it's better not to be alone. It's so much better."/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"He seemed to cringe at that and I nearly drew my hand away, ready to roll over because I was sure that I had stepped over a line that I hadn't known was there. Slit was faster, reaching for his face and flattening my hand between it and his palm./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""Dune, how long were you on your own?"/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"That came from nowhere, an abrupt road away from his history. It made my insides feel hot and dry, grinding together. It's not something I remember fondly, the days in the silence of the caverns./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""I dunno duck. Dune would need to look at the wall where she counts days."/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""You marked finding me with red. The other red spot way before that, that's your mum, ain't it?"/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"I didn't want to answer, I felt far off in some other realm away from here. "Yes." I said anyway, mechanical like, the same way Shirley lurches forward in a hurry when Slit lead-foots the guzz pedal./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""I counted once, that's six of your years."/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""Yeah."/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""Holy emshit/em, Dune. That uh... That explains some things."/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""I guess." /p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"I knew that was emwhy/em we were here, didn't mean I wanted to talk about it. That was probably the point of the trip, because I don't talk about things, I just bury them because it's easier. Much simpler a matter to try fixing somebody else rather than yourself. When I looked back at him, I expected him to be in a state of recoil, pulling away because that's what any sensible person would do. He wasn't doing that, he was in mid yawn when turned my head and a moment later propped up on his elbow, just lookin' at me with this weird, serious face. It was odd because there wasn't a trace of anger or annoyance in the glare. He still had a hold on my hand too, pad of his thumb playing with the tendons behind my knuckles. Not sure what to make of that./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""Don't really feel up to sleeping."/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"I've heard that before, usually nights when he woke up swinging and rolling around, dragging me by the wrist with him as he flopped about. He's always had those tricky dreams. Usually he'd get up and do something under Shirley's hood to get his mind off it. Couldn't do much of that delicate nature out here. Another problem was, I don't think he's gotten more then ten hours sleep in the last three days./p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""Ah, well, laying down for a bit may still put the pep back in yir step, Ducky."/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""Mm. Maybe."/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""Slit? Has Dune ever told you that she hasn't chundered since she was a wee sprout?"/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr""No, that's fucking weird, though."/p
/div
div align="left"
p dir="ltr"I was having that sudden hot feeling all over and the burning sensation of stomach sludge crawling up my chest. Yeah, that long, proud record for my steel constitution was over. I foolishly swore that I'd ever drink another drop of home brew./p
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p dir="ltr"Ever bright Ducky, he was shoving the bucket under my face. So helpful/p
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