Chapter 23
The Merchant and The Pearl

"Bodahn Feddic, at your service!" The cheerful dwarf gripped a tankard full of a dark, foaming brew, his other hand held out to shake.

With a glance at her seatmate, Lyra accepted the dwarf's meaty grip. Alistair hadn't responded, his brooding eyes drowning in his own tankard. He'd said maybe six words since they'd entered the Gnawed Noble two hours previous, and Lyra had taken to talking to the folks around them out of sheer boredom.

"Me 'n ma boy Sandal, we're merchants," the dwarf continued. "Travelin' men, that's us! How about you?"

"Mercenaries for hire," she said, continuing the facade she and Alistair had agreed upon.

"Plenty of work to be had, for the right people. Got any references?"

"Yes... you should see this lovely woman gut a Darkspawn. Navel to nose," Zevran said as he swaggered up. He perched on a stool beside Lyra, who quirked an eyebrow at him. Zevran gave her a quick grin, then launched into a story of daring escapes and fantastic maneuvers, spinning a slightly taller tale than might have been necessary. By the end, Bodahn was fit to be tied, and his son was laughing and clapping his hands.

"Good story!" the young dwarf chuckled in a rather dense voice.

Bodahn clapped his son on the shoulder with real warmth. "Seeing as you're so formidable, perhaps I might be able to hire you? We're traveling to Orzammar soon. Leaving tomorrow, in fact, and I haven't found anyone who's willing to go along with us."

"Orzammar... that's a long trip, isn't it?" Lyra asked, sipping her cup of mead.

"Indeed it is, miss. Four weeks by fully loaded wagon, which moves about the same speed as a healthy dwarf can march. But with the Darkspawn threat I'm afraid it might take even longer. I've got a full load... two wagons crammed with spices, cloth, pins and needles, pots and pans, sugar, salt, everything the outposts need and can't get from Denerim unless they make the trip themselves. I make this run twice a year, selling my wares to the folks across Ferelden and trading for more along the way. When I get to Orzammar, my wagons are stuffed with what the Dwarves need, and they trade me metal, gems and lyrium. Then I bring it all back to Denerim and begin again. It's a good life, if a bit dangerous, but no profit without a little risk, right? So, what do you say? It's steady work, and I can give you meals plus a copper a day."

Lyra hid her face behind her cup in amusement. If she were actually a mercenary, it might actually be a good offer. But this was where the facade had to end. "I wish we could, Bodahn, but-"

"We'll take the job," Alistair cut in.

She swiveled her head at him, shocked. "We will?" In her surprise at his sudden return to life, she didn't think to object.

"Absolutely." Interest stirred in his eyes as he turned toward her. "We've been planning to go to Orzammar anyway, right? Along the way, we can look for the Dalish, and make any other stops as necessary. And how can we deny our swords to this fine dwarf?" He grinned at Bodahn.

"Excellent!" Bodahn said happily. "I'll be happy to give you a discount on anything you might need from my wares." The merchant outlined details about where to meet his caravans the following morning, describing a meeting place a mile or so from the city gates. Alistair promised they would be there shortly after sunup. The dwarf shook their hands, and bustled off to finish his preparations.

Lyra stared at Alistair, who swirled his drink and tossed back a mouthful. Next he reached for a loaf of crusty bread, tearing off a piece and spreading it thick with butter before devouring it in two bites.

"Zevran, would you excuse us?" she asked.

The elf hopped from his the stool and sauntered over to a pair of ladies who'd been whispering and giggling in his direction for the last few minutes.

"We're mercenaries now? I mean, for real, not just as a story in Denerim?" Lyra questioned Alistair.

Alistair tore off another hunk of bread. "Everything I said is true. And it's the perfect cover. Why would the last Grey Wardens in Ferelden travel with a merchant? Whoever is still looking for us will pass us on the road and not think twice. Darkspawn and honest bandits aside, of course."

She opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again. He was right.

"Plus," he went on, "I've been thinking about our camping arrangements. We have no tents, no good cooking equipment, no heavy clothing, only simple bedrolls and what we can carry on our backs. Bodahn has a wagon, mules. We can have a proper camp every night, better meals... it's a good idea."

"Now that you say it like that... I agree. It's a fantastic idea," Lyra said. "But we should tell him who we really are, and introduce him to the rest of the party. He might not want to travel with us once he knows what we're doing."

"Fair enough," Alistair said, then looked over his shoulder. The dwarf had not yet left the tavern, but was speaking with someone in another corner. Alistair caught his eye. After a few moments, the dwarf hurried over.

"Bodahn, we need to tell you something," Alistair began, his tone confident. "We're very excited about traveling with you and we have no doubt that we can protect your caravan, but we haven't been completely honest with you. We're not mercenaries, precisely."

Bodahn's cheerful face lined with suspicion, but he said nothing.

"We're Grey Wardens," Alistair continued, "traveling through Ferelden, uniting the land against the Blight. Your route happens to coincide with ours, which is why I took you up on the job you offered. It's not just us in our group, though... we have a battle mage and a healer mage, an ex-Chantry sister who can kill you with a dagger before you can blink, a qunari warrior, and a former assassin... who is presently womanizing, right over there."

Bodahn's eyes canted backward to absorb the sight of Zevran, who had captured one of the women's hands and was caressing it with his lips.

"And of course, Lyra, and myself, and our faithful mabari." From his place beneath their table, Kestrel gave a short yip. "Rather than the pay you've offered, perhaps we could ask that you make a small space in your wagon for some of our own supplies. Some tents, cooking equipment, that sort of thing - nothing large or bulky. You'll have seven - well, eight - excellent fighters, and if we have to go do other errands on our journey we'll leave some of them with you, to guard your wagons and ensure your safety. Does that sound fair?" Alistair asked.

Once again, Lyra found herself wordless. Alistair was talking like a leader, thinking strategically, and making deals for the whole group. She checked to make sure her mouth wasn't hanging open in amazement, but somehow it had stayed closed. Her eyebrows, however, threatened to rise off of her face.

Bodahn beamed, nodding eagerly. His expression had traveled the gamut during Alistair's speech, going from wary to overjoyed. "Grey Wardens! I would be honored to have you with me! Of course, of course - anything you need. I've always had a lot of admiration for you Wardens, the way you forge into the Deep Roads. And I'm glad to know someone is doing something about the Darkspawn. Is the meeting time we discussed still good for tomorrow?"

"Yes, that'll be fine," Alistair said, shaking Bodahn's hand. "We'll see you tomorrow morning, then."

Bodahn was nearly dancing. "Real Wardens!" he exulted, then bustled out of the tavern with a delighted grin.

"Well, that's done," Alistair said as he reached for more bread. "Easy as pie." He buttered another slice, catching Lyra's stare at last. "What?"

"Where did this come from?" she asked faintly.

A short grin stretched his mouth before he crammed it full of bread. "What are you talking about?"

"This... leadership. You just made arrangements for our entire party with a dwarf you've never met before , and you did it so... so... manfully."

Alistair grinned from ear to ear as he chewed. "I was thinking. About what you said before, about my bitch of a sister." His mouth was full, and he swallowed before saying more. Reaching down, he took Lyra's hands in his. "You were right. I need to stand up for myself more than I have been. There are terrible people in the world, and if I don't look out for them I'll get eaten alive." His thumbs rubbed the back of her hands with a sheepish smile. "And I haven't been fair. You've been absolutely great through all of this. Making the decisions, arranging the watches. I'm the senior Warden, I should at least contribute, and without whining. So... I decided to." His brow furrowed. "That's okay, isn't it?"

Lyra almost laughed to see the old, hesitant Alistair peeking out from behind this new, strong, confident Alistair. "It's more than okay. It's fantastic." She grinned, leaning in to wrap her arms around him. "I knew you had this in you," she whispered.

"I didn't. Not until about ten minutes ago!" he chuckled, then let her go gently. "Come on. Let's go take Bodahn up on his offer and get some new supplies before everyone gets back. We need some heavy duty camping equipment!"

.oOo.

"Interesting," Morrigan drawled. "We've gone from refugees to hired thugs."

"Mercenaries, Morrigan," Alistair corrected.

She waved her hand negligently. "'Tis much the same thing."

"I think it's wonderful," Leliana said with sparkling eyes. "What a good idea you had, Alistair."

He crimsoned, but then a serving girl began to pile food on the table, and everyone was blissfully silent for a time. Lyra tossed Kestrel a ham bone and he retreated to a corner, happily gnawing.

Conversation slowly began again as people ate and drank their fill. Morrigan and Sten talked quietly, as did Leliana and Zevran. Lyra couldn't have been happier. The new plan was going to benefit them all, and there'd been no arguments or doubts from the others. Already she could feel the tension bleeding from her shoulders, and on a whim she brushed Alistair's cheek with a kiss. He grinned like a fool, charmed at her small public display. By now they'd discussed her feelings about affection in front of others, and he understood her hesitancy.

Wynne leaned forward then, catching their attention. Lyra's stomach flipped, simmering with quiet dread. She moistened her lips, steeling herself. It doesn't matter what Wynne thinks, she told herself as she threaded her fingers with Alistair's. It doesn't matter. He squeezed her hand, but didn't stop eating.

"I want to tell you something, young Wardens," the mage began.

Lyra's heart pounded as cold sweat broke over her.

"I think you are very lucky to have each other."

Alistair's hand froze, his fork still in his mouth as he stared at the healer in surprise. Lyra's pulse jumped, hope flooding her veins.

"I apologize for what I said before. I was wrong. You may not have each other forever, or even for more than a few days... but that's no reason not to love each other while you can. You have found something very beautiful. Treasure it," Wynne told them warmly, one hand reaching across the table to clasp Lyra's.

Tears welled as Lyra squeezed the elder's fingers. "Thank you, Wynne," she whispered. A weight she hadn't known was on her shoulders lifted, leaving her lighter than air. Alistair curved his arm around Lyra and kissed her temple, and Wynne smiled.

"Oh, go on. You two are making me absolutely ill." Morrigan wrinkled her nose.

"Two birds with one stone. How can I resist?" Before she could stop him, Alistair drew Lyra in and kissed her deeply, uncaring of the audience that surrounded them. Lyra's cheeks heated as Zevran cat-called and Leliana clapped her hands, but then she gave up and kissed him back, her arms winding around his neck to the tune of whoops of delight. When their kiss ended, Lyra found the room full of smiles; even Morrigan didn't look as disgusted as she claimed. Only Sten seemed less than amused, but then, he usually seemed less than amused. Wynne's smile was a warm beam of sunlight, and Lyra could almost feel her mother's approval shining down from the Heavens.

"Much more of that and the inn will burn down around our ears," Leliana teased.

Lyra grinned at her as she cuddled into Alistair's protective arm, tucking a loose tendril of hair behind her ear as he resumed eating with his other hand.

Their elven assassin cleared his throat. "The errand you sent me on earlier. Would you hear my report?"

"What did you find out?" Lyra asked eagerly.

Zevran unsheathed a dagger and set its point upon the table, his fingers dandling the handle as he spoke. "Loghain is not in Denerim at the moment. He is traveling to Amaranthine, to the ancestral home of his compatriot Arl Howe, and will be gone for at least another month. When he returns, a meeting of the nobles will be held, at which point the rumors say he intends to name himself regent. Cailan's widow, Anora, is sitting the throne right now, and not everyone is happy that her common ass is still there. They are crying out for royal blood." The knife twirled in his fingers. "In Antiva, this would be so simple. Someone would hire a Crow to kill Loghain and Anora, and then someone else would hire another Crow to kill someone else, and eventually there would be only one left standing to claim the throne. You Fereldans are so uncivilized."

Alistair rolled his eyes as he scooped the last bite onto his fork. Lyra slumped in her chair, her mouth twisting in disappointment. It seemed she would not face Loghain on this particular trip.

"Something else interesting, as well. Look at this." Zevran pulled a folded paper from his pocket and passed it over.

Lyra smoothed it out, and Alistair looked over her shoulder as she read aloud. "Don't believe the lies! Friends of the Grey Wardens assemble. The hidden pearl holds the key to resistance. The griffins will rise again."

The message was printed in simple block lettering, large enough to be read from a few feet away. "Where did you get this?" Lyra asked.

"It was stuck to a wall by the Alienage, but I saw several throughout Denerim. To be perfectly honest, my flower, it looks like a trap to me. If there is a resistance in support of the Wardens, they would not advertise so openly... not in Loghain's own city."

"The hidden pearl holds the key to resistance. What does that mean?" Alistair wondered.

"Isn't there a tavern here in Denerim called The Pearl?" Leliana suggested. "Perhaps that's where they meet."

Lyra nodded, standing as she tucked the paper into her pouch. "Let's go."

"But, you heard Zevran," Alistair protested. "If it's a trap-"

Lyra cut him off. "Then we owe it to any real Grey Warden supporters to kill the people who are behind it," she said tightly.

Without another word, Alistair rose from his seat.

"Kestrel, Zevran, come with us? Everyone else, we'll be back in a few hours." She unhooked the coin pouch from her belt and tossed it onto the table. "Leliana, I put down a deposit with the innkeep for rooms for us all. If you'll talk to him after everyone is finished, everyone can get settled."

Enthusiastic noises as the others agreed, then went back to their food. Lyra squared her shoulders and led the way out of the Gnawed Noble.

.oOo.

The gaudy street sign glinted in the faint moonlight, its carven letters bold against the gleaming orb they were set against. "The Pearl," Lyra murmured. Even she knew of this place; Denerim's most famous brothel. She'd never been in such a building, and found she was quite curious to see just what it would be like inside.

"Why do you suppose they call it a brothel?" Alistair wondered aloud. "There isn't any broth. ...or is there?"

Zevran snickered as Lyra rolled her eyes. Clearly, Alistair had also never been in a brothel, which she found reassuring.

But what Lyra hadn't expected to walk into was a bar fight.

They'd barely cleared the door when Lyra ducked back with a gasp to avoid a gilt-edged chair as it flew across the room. It hadn't been all that close, but it had jump-started her pulse, nevertheless.

The chair splintered against the opposite wall to the tune of shrieks and screams. A lithe woman with flowing-dark hair glared as she swaggered forward, leather-gloved hands planted upon curvaceous hips. Lyra realized she wasn't the one who'd been screaming as three scantily-clad women, tousled and rumpled, scrambled out from behind the bar. They disappeared down a hallway, a door slamming in their wake.

"That chair almost hit me," the woman snarled.

All of it had happened so fast, Lyra, Zevran and Alistair had done nothing thus far but watch from the Pearl's entryway. But when three gents charged the dark-haired beauty like maddened bulls, Lyra drew her blades and prepared to intervene.

"Wait," Zevran said quietly, one hand closing over her shoulder.

Lyra glanced back at him in confusion before her attention was snapped forward once more by a pained yell. Just in time, she caught the tail-end of what looked like it had been a fantastic kick, the woman's booted foot carving a path across all three of her attackers' faces.

"Come on, boys... who wants to dance?" she cooed, drawing two short swords as the men regained their bearings.

One of them backed off, one hand cupped to his nose as blood seeped between his fingers. But the other two rushed her, not having the good sense to know when they were licked.

"Let me guess. You know her?" Lyra breathed as the woman spun between her adversaries, her blades flying.

"You might say that," Zevran chuckled. "Watch. She needs no help from us, and would not thank us for robbing her of her fun."

The woman was a dervish incarnate, a dazzling smile on her face as she whirled. Her attacks were unlike anything Lyra had ever seen, a combination of martial arts and knife-work that left her opponents groaning on the floor in only seconds.

"Aww... no one's got enough energy left to take me home? Bugger," she complained. Those wide, straight blades twirled back into their sheaths with a satisfying snick.

"Rivaini bitch," one of the men muttered as he struggled to his feet.

"Manners," she called after him as he and his companions made for the door. "Fuck all, there's ladies present."

Poisonous glares were the only response as the trio hobbled from the Pearl.

"And never let it be said that you are not one of them," Zevran said with a wide smile as he stepped out from behind Lyra's back and meandered forward. "Isabela, dulce mia. I am surprised that Sanga allowed you in here. How will she do any business, with you distracting all the men?"

"Zevran!" the woman exclaimed with a delighted smile. "You son of a motherless goat! It's been too long! How are you?" Strong, brown arms hooked the elf in for a hug.

"I am alive and well - thanks to this lovely flower," Zevran said, gesturing to Lyra. "Please, allow me to introduce you. Isabela, meet Lyra of the Grey Wardens."

"Captain Isabela, if you please," Isabela laughed. "Pirate, more like. But the title goes with the ship, so I've heard. A Grey Warden, is it?" Isabela's eyes raked her with an introspective glint. "I've heard interesting things about them, both the men and the women."

Alistair cleared his throat and slipped his arm around Lyra's waist. Lyra glanced at him in surprise - the movement was almost possessive.

Amusement twinkled in Isabela's eyes, but changed to admiration as she inspected Alistair. "And who's this strapping young lad?"

"Alistair, also of the Grey Wardens," Zevran continued. "Isabela, you see standing before you my new employers."

"What, you gave up the Crows?" Isabela's rich brown eyes opened wide as they swung back to Zevran. "You're shitting me."

"Not at all. These brave warriors made me an offer I could not refuse."

"So you tried to kill them and failed." The woman's eyes shone with mirth.

"Intuitive as always, dulce mia. You should see them fight. I daresay Lyra is a match even for you."

"Hmm." Her speculative gaze drifted back to Lyra. "What do you say, lovely? Shall we have a go?"

"Oh, uh-" Lyra stammered, taken aback at the question. "We're actually on an errand, we haven't got the time right now... but allow me to say, that display was nothing short of incredible!"

"Thanks, kitten," Isabela said with a fond smile. "We women have to be strong sometimes, don't we? It isn't every day I meet a lady who Zevran says can match me. Come, sit, have a drink. You can spare an hour to tell me your story."

"We can't," Alistair cut in. "As she said, we've got business to attend."

Isabela grinned in challenge, one hip shifting sideways as she lifted her chin at Alistair. "Business after moonrise, in The Pearl? Mate, trust me when I say I think the criminals you're after will wait an hour." She sashayed forward, her fingers rising to trace Alistair's cheek. Her eyes gleamed with interest, full breasts rising as she drew a breath. She wore a fitted bodice and a man's white satin tunic, slit on each side to the waist, like a scandalously short dress. Certainly, there were no leggings beneath it, and Lyra caught a glimpse of blue silk hugging her hip beneath the tunic. The lacings strained over her cleavage, the pale fabric a sharp contrast to her sun-bronzed skin. A dark blue kerchief held back those lush waves of hair, and burnished thigh-high boots made not a sound when she moved. Lyra stared, more fascinated than jealous, as Alistair turned three shades of crimson under Isabela's caress. Never had she seen a female more sure of herself. "He's a handsome one, isn't he?" Isabela said to Lyra. "I knew a Grey Warden once. He wasn't as young as you two, but... Tell me. D'you think this one's got the same stamina he did?"

"Isabela," Zevran chided.

"Tell you what." Isabela ignored the elf, her eyes sparkling as she looked from Lyra to Alistair. "Why don't both of you come back to my ship. I've got better liquor there than they serve here, and then we can get to know each other in privacy and comfort." She shot Lyra a coy grin, her lissome fingers lifting to chase over Lyra's cheek. "What do you say, pretty thing? Shall I give you an evening you won't soon forget?"

"Her?" Alistair squeaked, his eyes wide and helpless. "You want to take - her - back to your ship?"

"And you," Isabela said. "With both of you here, how could I be expected to decide?"

Lyra's heart pounded as Isabela gave her a flirtatious smile. The woman was a siren, and though Lyra herself had never been attracted to women, it couldn't be denied that she'd been swept under her spell for a moment. "Uh - no," she forced out. "Thank you. I'm spoken for."

"As am I," Alistair said faintly.

Isabela sighed as she stepped back. "So I'd gathered. You two wouldn't have been the first couple to join me in my cabin. They say three's a crowd, but I find nothing to be further from the truth. Are you sure I can't... change your mind?"

"This is a dream." Alistair's eyes darted between Lyra and Isabela as he crept back one step, muttering beneath his breath. "I'm dreaming, and soon I'm going to wake up, and I'll never be able to explain it to Lyra because she'll think I'm a bad, bad man..."

Zevran lifted Isabela's hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to it. "You are too much, dulce mia. Perhaps I shall see you again before we leave the city."

Isabela leaned in to brush a friendly kiss over Zevran's cheek, then sent a smouldering glance at Lyra. "If you change your mind, kitten, I'll be in room five," she purred before strolling off down the hall.

Lyra blushed to the tips of her ears.

"I'm not dreaming, am I," Alistair muttered, his stunned eyes glued to Isabela's hips.

"Not unless we're sharing the same dream," Lyra murmured in return.

"Maker's breath."

"Uh-huh. Anyway..." Lyra gave a slight laugh as she tugged Alistair toward the counter, catching the proprietor's attention. "Excuse me-"

"Five silver for a room, twelve for the whole night." The woman was all business, her coppery hair a little too bright. She leaned on the counter, her fingers tapping the wood as she surveyed them. "Twenty to include your choice of company. No violence or marking. I can show you who's working tonight, if you'll follow me through these doors." The woman began to round the counter.

"No! Uh, I'm not here for...that." Lyra felt her cheeks reddening once more as she pulled the folded poster from her pouch. Did the brothel really get enough women as clients that the owner thought her a potential customer? "I was wondering. Do you know anything about this?"

The woman's face turned flinty as she glanced at the poster. "Third door down the hall." She turned her focus back to the bar and began wiping it with a limp rag.

Lyra thanked her and tucked the poster away again. They made their way down the hall. Kestrel surged ahead, pausing at each door to sniff. He paused in front of the third one, and his hackles rose with a low growl.

"Hush," Lyra whispered. She knelt, smoothing one hand over his head as she peered at the doorknob. A small carving of a griffin had been etched below the keyhole. She pointed silently, drawing Alistair and Zevran's attention, then stood and rapped on the door.

Quiet shuffling from within. "What's the password?" came a low voice.

Lyra's mind raced. She thought back to the poster, the only thing they'd had to lead them here. "The griffins will rise again?" she tried.

There was a pause, and then the lock clicked open. Lyra hurried through, but her dog shoved past her, insisting on being first through the door. Alistair and Zevran were right behind her as all four of them crowded into the room.

The door shut behind them, the bolt engaging again with a heavy thud. "Look at this, boys. We caught us another supporter!" a rough looking man said in a snide voice. Lyra drew a breath, her muscles tensing as she prepared to pull her weapons.

"Not just a supporter... those are the Wardens!" the lone female in the room exclaimed. "Don't kill them - Loghain will want to see their faces before they die."

Lyra got her sword out just in time to block a dagger thrust from the first speaker. Adrenaline sang in her veins as she shoved the man off, circling the burly warrior. Alistair's battle cry filled her ears, along with the sound of his shield sliding against metal. The air bled with noise; blades clashing, Kestrel's bark, hobnailed boots pounding the floorboards. A small table was smashed to bits as Alistair slipped and fell. But his sword thrust upward to plunge into his attacker's gut as she closed in for the kill. A squeak of surprise, and she collapsed atop him in a boneless heap.

Lyra's attacker lunged, and Kestrel jumped upward to lock his jaws around the man's throat. The warrior screamed, his arms shoving at the dog, to no avail. Lyra skirted the pair, clambering around to assist Zevran in his fight against a qunari barbarian. The giant's face wore a dark scowl as he watched the elf dance around him, his bastard sword slicing the empty air, vacated only a heartbeat before. Lyra got in a dagger thrust, then drove the blade of her slender sword between the plates of his armor, sliding it into his ribs. He bellowed with pain, and Zevran dashed in to plunge his knife into the qunari's neck. The soldier fell like a tree in a forest, though he was nowhere near as silent.

Alistair had regained his feet, his shield swinging in a semi-circle and sending the two remaining thugs reeling. Lyra dashed in to double-slash the one on the left, and Alistair jammed his sword into the other's belly, burying it to the hilt. The man gasped in pain, blood bubbling on his lips as his eyes went glassy.

Just like that, the room quieted, the only sounds the heavy breathing of the victors. Lyra gulped air as she knelt to clean her weapon on the dead woman's tunic, Kestrel licking her face as she did so. Dropping the sword, she threw her arms around him. "Who's the best war dog in the whole inn? Who is? It's you, yes it is!" she told him in a youthful voice. The dog's tongue painted her cheek with slobber as he knocked her over to nuzzle her.

"A trap, just as I suspected," Zevran said.

"But one they won't spring on anyone else," Lyra said as she climbed to her feet. "Thank you for your help."

"For you, my flower? I would cause the world to turn backwards. I would make the sun rise in the east. I would-"

"How about stopping, can you do that?" Alistair said in a tight voice.

"Oh, Alistair. For you..." Zevran grinned lecherously. "I would do much more."

Alistair groaned and buried his head in his hands. "First Isabela, and now you. Cut me a break, would you?"