All righty! Extra-early posting, because I'll be doing some major packing and moving this weekend, and likely won't have time for fanfic. Well, that—and this chapter is pretty short XP All the loose ends are getting tied up! Expect ominous pauses, not-so-unexpected revelations, and some Nathan/James snarkage!

Hope you enjoy! Review, pretty please!


A bene placito: Up to the performer


Parting the window drapes, Nathan gazes outside.

The city glitters: a beautiful metropolitan postcard. A white mist of snowfall hangs in the air. Through it, the buildings rise and fall in brilliant columns, a radiant mosaic against the night sky.

On the balcony below, he can see Diva and Karl. They are playing La Marelle Ronde—a French variation of hopscotch. A vast snail-shell is splattered on the floor, gleaming red with fresh blood. One-toed, Diva hops lightly through the shell, block after block. He hears her singing sweetly: "'Will you walk into my parlor?' said the Spider to the Fly, 'Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy..."

Giggling, she lands with both feet in the shell's center, her white skirts swirling around her. A fine spray of blood stains the front of her ruffled blouse. The corpses she and Karl used to paint their snail-shell are bundled behind the potted plants.

Letting the drapes fall, Nathan chuckles. "Honestly. Our little girl has the object permanence of a toddler. Does she really think hiding those bodies will make them disappear?"

Behind him, James does not answer. He sits on a sofa, both feet planted rigidly on the carpet. His gaze is fixed on the velvety black dress Nathan has given him.

"Are you sure this will work?" he snaps.

"Hmm?" Idly, Nathan turns.

Down below, he hears Karl take up the poem. "'Oh no, no,' said the little Fly, 'to ask me is in vain, For who goes up your winding stair can never come down again...' "

James scowls. "I said: are you sure this will work? Amshel is not blind. He will know something is wrong."

"Oh, pooh." Nathan waggles a hand. "You and Solomon are so alike that way. You both give that big man too muchcredit. There are limits to his influence, y'know."

The comparison to Solomon does not amuse James. His glare sharpens. "Even so. I still think this is a bad idea. As it is, we were ordered to keep away from Saya. Amshel told us not to—"

"James, James, James." Nathan swivels closer as if on greased hips. "The greatest pleasures in life come from doing what people say you can't do. Surely you've heard that one before?"

James' lip curls. "I have not. Undoubtedly because whoever said it is now dead."

Nathan shrugs. "Well, there's no point in taking life too seriously, anyway. As it is, no one gets out alive."

"And your plan of will certainly shorten the length mine."

Nathan's eyes twinkle. "Oh my! James made a joke. This is quite an occasion. I'm not used to you being a smartass on the side."

James glowers. "I am being serious."

"Well, so am I." Winking slyly, Nathan settles in the seat opposite James'. "Look. Just keep one thing in mind. The Met will be crowded. All those humans—that plethora of perfumes, colognes and B.O—would muddle even a Chiropteran's senses. And Amshel is no exception. He'll never know."

James shakes his head. "He has known Diva the longest. He will realize she is acting strangely."

"You're forgetting one thing, James. Diva always acts strangely. There's never a predictable moment with her. And that's exactly what enthralls Amshel so. Because he expects the unexpected from her. Their visit to the Met will be no different. At the most, Amshel will record her behavior for future experiments. I can see it now: Research method 23,074. Took Diva to opera. Observed her gnawing the fingernails of her right hand, but filing those on her left. Could this be biologically motivated? Or influenced by her environment?" With an eyeroll, he recomposes his face. "You're reading much too deeply into this, James. Remember, I'll be keeping an eye on everything. That's the key. You'll be fine as long as you do everything I say."

James scowls again. "This is insane, Nathan. It will never work."

"Oh, nonsense. Just think of it as role-playing." Coyly, Nathan fans his eyelashes down and up. "And don't tell me you've never done that before. Our little Diva regales me with juicy stories about you."

James' fingers tighten on the black dress. "Keep my business with Diva out of this."

"Oooh! So that's a 'Yes', hmm?" Nathan cackles. "Well, there's no problem, then! Just remember. Diva is more Daddy's Girl, less Sex Kitten when it comes to Amshel. The latter, she reserves for Solomon. As for Karl—" He breaks off. Tilts his head to hear Diva and Karl's mad laughter resonating from the balcony. "With Karl, she's just plain batty. But I guess, on some level, she realizes the different ideals all her Chevaliers have of her. So, like a seasoned harlot, she playacts a role for each one."

James' nose wrinkles. "How can you talk about her that way? She does not—she isn't—"

Nathan lets off an insolent laugh. "She isn't what? Not what we all know she is? A girl you're forced to share with four other men? All because you know she'd never be happy with one?"

"Shut up! How dare you talk about her that way?"

Nathan shrugs dismissively. "Believe she's a plaster saint all you want, James. But we all know the truth. The sooner you accept it, the better off you'll be once she's finished with you. After all, we may view our precious Diva through different eyes. But it's only her babies who'll see her from any realistic dimension. And that's all Diva really cares about. You should accept that by now."

Those words snap James.

Lunging, he grabs Nathan by the throat, hauling him up and slamming him against the wall. "Shut up! Just shut up!"

Nathan is silent for a moment. James hopes he has gotten his point across.

But then he laughs, slow and taunting. No fear, or remorse, in his glowing red eyes. His grin has a smug edge. "Well, well. Perhaps I underestimated how strongly you feel about this." His smile fades. "But that's why I need to know, James. Here and now. Are you in on the plan, or not? Because my goal, however possible, is to give Diva babies. And once she does, she will forget you. Forget all of us. Are you prepared to risk that?"

James does not answer. For a moment, both he and Nathan are perfectly still. He feels the other man's eyes boring into him, sharp as blades. Below, Diva's bell-like laughter chimes out, mingling with Karl's hyena-howls. But everything in the room is silent.

On a deep breath, James releases Nathan. Steps back on rubbery knees, mind still fizzling with fury.

Why? Why does he always let Nathan goad him? Despoil his self-control?

Through gritted teeth, he says. "You know I am in on the plan. Whatever else, my duties are always to Diva."

"Really?" Seductively, Nathan straightens. "So, even though she'll dump you once her babies arrive, you're willing to take that risk?"

"As I said. It is my duty."

Laughing merrily, Nathan breezes past James. "Oh, poor baby. Is that really what you think? Or could it be that you're even crazier than Diva?"

James eyebrow twitches. "What do you mean?"

"Oh. Like you don't already know?" Pausing at the doorway, Nathan offers a wistful smile. "You believe that if you give Diva babies, she'll be yours at last. Isn't that right?" James winces, but cannot answer. Nathan titters. "Better open your eyes, James. After all, once Diva gets her wish, the truth might hit you hardest. And I would so deplore it, watching you fall to pieces. It's happened to too many of your fellow-Chevaliers, as it is."

Before James can answer, Nathan quits the room.

Only the black dress remains. Puddled on the floor like an old bloodstain.

While below, Diva sings: "To an evil counselor, close heart and ear and eye. And take a lesson from this tale, of the Spider and the Fly..."


"Preposterous!" Joel Goldschmidt says. "Niklas is not a traitor!"

"Haji saw him at a club with Diva's Chevalier," Saya says, with forced reasonableness. It is a tone she has been using for twenty minutes now. But it is starting to wear dangerously thin.

"Oh, for God's sake! Just because your Chevalier conveniently took off—you are making excuses for him by claiming he was tailing Niklas?"

"I was," Haji cuts in. Leaning by the corner wall, in a stance of deliberate passivity. But his tone, like Saya's, is firm.

Scowling, Joel glances from him to Saya. "This is a distasteful prank. Nothing more. Niklas is my son. I know he would never betray Red Shield."

Saya is bemused by Joel's vehemence. Is it out of familial protectiveness? Or plain perversity?

"Just listen before you write this off," she says. "We've already established that Diva is here. The bitemarks on all those corpses match her prints. We have to focus on bringing her down. I have no reason to complicate that duty. But I'm telling you the truth. Haji saw Niklas with Diva's Chevalier."

"And how, precisely, would he know it was Diva's Chevalier? As far as Red Shield's records serve, we can only confirm the existence of two. Amshel Goldsmith and Gregory Rasputin."

"I have seen that particular Chevalier before," Haji says. "At Berlin. In 1945."

Joel looks skeptical. "And, despite all those decades, you happened to remember his face?"

"With our duty, we have to remember faces!" Saya snaps. "Our lives depend on it."

"That is hardly reason to assume you saw a Chevalier!"

Haji shakes his head. "Monsieur, they were discussing something crucial. That Chevalier had asked Niklas to ship food supplies to Red Shield's Vietnam teams, a few weeks back. Supplies that were infused with Amshel Goldsmith's special ingredient. They plan to transform your Vietnam outpost into Chiropterans."

Joel frowns, as if Haji's words have struck a chord of recognition. "Did you say... food supplies?"

Saya and Haji exchange quick looks. Feeling hopeful, Saya presses, "This has happened before, hasn't it? There have been supplies shipped to Vietnam without your consent?"

Joel nods slowly. But disbelief clouds his gaze. "Five times this month, under Niklas' signature, extra food supplies have been sent to Vietnam. Each time, the bill of lading mentions an unfamiliar shipping agent. I've questioned Niklas about it repeatedly. But he tells me it is a clerical error."

Saya leans forward. "And I'll bet you never discovered why those food supplies were shipped to Vietnam in the first place."

Joel glowers. "Because it could genuinely be a clerical error! Niklas has never been proficient at deskwork. It is negotiation where his expertise lies." The skepticism returns to his face. "This is absurd. Niklas is not a traitor. You both have lost your minds."

Saya stifles a frustrated sigh. For a moment, it seemed Joel was ready to believe them. But the opening did not last.

Then Haji says, "Monsieur, I apologize if this is impertinent. But you know that Niklas sleeps with men, don't you?"

Joel's whole body rattles as if to a gale. Eyes wide; nostrils flaring. "Wha-at" he sputters. "H-how dare you—?"

Haji speaks over his outburst. "You were having him watched, were you not? You hired a private detective to shadow him during his nighttime outings?"

Joel's mouth opens and closes. In a choked voice, he says, "How—how do you know this?"

"I heard it from Niklas himself. While he was speaking to Diva's Chevalier." Haji's eyes narrow. "Please. Answer one question. Did that detective you hired—ever mention that Niklas had a boyfriend downtown?"

There is a pause.

Woodenly, Joel nods.

"And did he happen to describe him?"

Again, a jerky nod. Joel's gaze is vacant, unspecific, as if sunk into tormented inner-depths. "He—he said that it was a young man, about Niklas' age. Well-dressed. Blond hair. Light eyes. Favoring white suits. He was fond of a peculiar drink—"

"Cognac des Borderies?" Haji asks.

Joel blanches, but does not answer.

"You have just described the man I saw Niklas with," Haji says. "Diva's Chevalier. They are the same person."

Flinching, Joel shuts his eyes. Haji's quiet words seem to reverberate through the room, tangling around him like a shroud. His throat works convulsively.

"This… cannot be possible."

Saya shakes her head. "The longer you keep insisting that, the more time we'll waste. Haji's telling the truth. Niklas was with Diva's Chevalier!"

Joel's grips the edges of the desk. But he does not answer. Seconds tick by. Saya fights the urge to grab his shoulders and shake him. Doesn't he realize the more time they waste arguing, the more likely it is that Diva could gain another ally?

Then, after a moment, Joel opens his eyes. Turning to Haji, he says, "If… what you are telling me is true, there is… something I must know."

Haji inclines his head.

"That man you claim Niklas was with. That… Chevalier? Did you hear everything he and Niklas discussed?"

Haji nods.

"Then I must confirm something the detective told me. Did he have… some sort of petname for Niklas? An—endearment?"

Haji nods. "He called him Nikki."

The corners of Joel's mouth tighten, as if Haji's answer is acid splashed across his face.

Frowning, Saya glances from him to her Chevalier. "Why is this so important?"

Haji shrugs, as unsure as she. Joel merely swallows. For a moment, she is sure he will not answer.

But eventually, he speaks. "Nikki... is what Niklas' father used to call him. His real father—my late brother, Jacques. It was a nickname. Any other boy would have hated it; it was so despicably girlish. But Niklas didn't mind. It was a little joke between him and Jacques. They were very close. Closer than I could ever hope to be."

Saya exchanges looks with Haji. She isn't sure why this is relevant. But she also has a premonition that Joel is building up to something. Some justification—or excuse—for why Niklas has sided with the enemy now.

"After Jacques' death, I married Niklas' mother," Joel continues. "Niklas was twelve at the time. He took his father's death very hard. I tried, in my own fashion, to fill in Jacques' place for him. But from the day I arrived, Niklas resented me. In his eyes, I was an invader. Someone who had usurped his father's place. Stolen his mother away. As for myself..."

He exhales. Saya and Haji are staring at him. But he avoids their eyes, speaking as if to himself. "I tried to build a relationship with the boy. But I was not his father, and he never let me forget it. Jacques was very permissive with Niklas. Lax, even. I felt he'd spoiled him. The boy was raised with no boundaries. He ate when he wanted. Slept when he wanted. And he had all these... effeminate habits. He hated sports. Liked to sit with his nose pressed into rubbish books. I tried to infuse discipline in his life. Force him to play outdoors more. Rebuke him for acting … like a milquetoast. Doubtless, many would say I was too strict. Niklas' mother, for one, accused me of trying to change the boy's nature. This is the way he is, she would say. If you force him to be someone different, he will only grow up hating himself. I always countered that the boy was too young to know what was good for him. Besides, I wanted him to grow up as a finer man. Someone Jacques would be proud of."

Wearily, he shakes his head. "Except Niklas' mother was right. My efforts only made the boy resent me. As a teenager, he was insufferable. He would waste no opportunity to act out. Call me names. Smash things. I would try to hold my temper. But ultimately, it always got the better of me. We were at each others throats so often that Niklas' mother resolved boarding schools were the only answer. Except… I believe that's where the boy really worsened. By the time he was in university, I kept hearing… rumors. About how out of control he was getting. How… deviant his lifestyle was. I summoned him to New York, so I could keep an eye on him. Find some way to turn him around. But I never realized…"

"How far gone he actually was," Saya murmurs.

Joel sighs, but does not answer. He seems not to have heard her.

"All this time, I thought Niklas was just… confused," he says. "I thought he needed firmness. But I never imagined…" Trailing off, he shakes his head.

Saya exchanges looks with Haji. Against all odds, they have managed to open Joel's eyes to the truth. What they need next is plan of action.

"We have to keep this from getting out of hand," she tells Joel. "Niklas could reveal important secrets about Red Shield to Diva. You should order operatives to stay on the lookout. If Niklas does become a Chevalier, we can't—"

She breaks off. Joel sits hunched at his desk, giving no sign that he is even taking in what she is saying.

Impatient, Saya steps closer. "Are you hearing what I'm telling you? Because if your son joins the enemy—"

Haji's hand on her shoulder cuts her short. Bewildered, she glances up at him. Realizes, from his cautionary look, that he is trying to tell her something. Then the stench of tears hits her. Frowning, she glances back at Joel. He sits motionless, head in hands, as if he has forgotten Haji or she are even in the room.

Then, with a cringe, she understands.

"M-monsieur," she says awkwardly. "Please. Control yourself."

No answer. Exchanging uncomfortable looks, Saya and Haji exit the room.

Behind them, Joel makes no sound. But his trembling shoulders tell the whole story.


Green neon streams from the tall slanted windows.

Silhouetted by the glow, Solomon faces the dressing-table mirror. Neatly buttoning up his suit jacket, he shoots his cuffs, and smoothes back his ruffled hair. He doesn't need to switch on the lamp to see what he is doing. Or to see the gleam of Niklas' eyes from the bed, the mesmerized way he watches him.

"Do you have to leave so soon?"

Solomon nods. "I have duties to Brother Amshel, Nikki. I cannot stay too long."

Niklas eyes slip shut. He lies nude and tousled under the sheets, his hair sticking up in all directions. "I know. I know. Sometimes... I just feel like times passes too quickly when I'm with you. Like right now. I looked at my watch, and realized it's been three hours. But to me, it feels like less."

"Be patient, Niklas. Soon, you will have nothing but time on your hands."

Niklas swallows. "I keep telling myself that. I keep assuring myself this will end soon. B-But I can't wait much longer, Solomon. My stepfather is already considering shifting my responsibilities. He says I'm hopelessly inept at deskwork. I may be put in charge of a different position. In a different country. Then it will be even harder for me to help you."

Or see you.

Solomon hears the last words clearly. His eyes narrow, the gears in his head turning. He's already heard of Niklas' prospective transfer. But that does not panic him. Partly because he realizes Niklas is far more fearful by the idea than he.

All he has to do is prey on that fear.

Knotting his tie, he turns to face Niklas, "Ah. No wonder you've been so tense tonight. Poor boy."

Niklas hunches over, raking both hands through his damp hair. "Solomon, please. I'm begging you. I've done everything I could to aid Diva's cause. Why can't you convince Amshel to accept me as a Chevalier?"

Solomon sighs. "Niklas, you overestimate my power. I can only make suggestions to Brother Amshel. But the ultimate choice is his. I've never been able to tell what he's planning."

Niklas looks sulky. "Yet you still drop everything to run to him, whenever he orders?"

"I have to. That is my duty."

"Duty." Niklas sighs the word out. "That one thing I can't endure anymore. But you can erase all that for me, Solomon. When I'm Diva's Chevalier, you can make me into someone brand new. Someone who is all yours."

Solomon smiles. Here is a chance to steer this conversation where he wants. "It is a tempting idea, Niklas. But technically, you would be Diva's first. By blood and right. And you would have duties to her, too." He pauses. "Could you accept that?"

Niklas hesitates. "I-I don't know. I think so."

Solomon makes his gaze sad. "That is not good enough, Nikki. I understand that you cannot be kept in suspense forever. But before Brother Amshel accepts you as a Chevalier, you have to prove yourself. Prove that you not only support our cause—but are willing to give everything for it. Could you do that?"

"I—" Niklas' eyes widen, and Solomon knows he has him.

Feigning regret, he picks up his wristwatch from the dresser. Slips it on, and turns to go. "If that's your answer, Niklas, then I am disappointed. I hoped you would be more dedicated than that."

"Wh-what?"

"If you cannot make your choice now, tonight, then neither can Amshel. We need someone ready to die for our cause. Someone worthy of being Diva's Chevalier."

With that, Solomon reaches for the doorknob.

"Wait!"

Niklas lurches from bed, cutting Solomon off and thrusting him back against the wall. They are within an inch of height.

"Solomon—don't! You know that isn't true. I have done everything to aid your side. Everything."

"I know you have, Niklas. But Brother Amshel does not agree with me. And he is the one who will decide your future."

Niklas' eyes squeeze shut, mouth quivering. He drops his forehead to Solomon's neck, his breath making a moist ragged patch there. "Dammit. Dammit. There has to be something I can do to convince him!"

It is exactly the opening Solomon needs.

He takes Niklas' shoulders. "Hush, Nikki. Pull yourself together. I promise you, I will think of something. Didn't I swear to take care of you?"

Niklas nods. But instead of drawing back, he drops to his knees at Solomon's feet. "I just wish all this waiting would end," he rasps. "I don't know what's worse. The idea of never being with you. Or of always sneaking out to see you. Sharing you with your real family. The one I can never be a part of."

Solomon puts a hand into Niklas' thick hair. "You will be a part of them, Niklas. Keep faith."

"But it's not just that. There must be something missing in your life too."

The words strike an eerie echo. Solomon freezes. "What do you mean?"

Niklas lays his face against Solomon's thigh. Hands on his hips, tight and pleading.

"I-I don't mean to be insolent, Solomon. But you have everything a person could dream of. Wealth. Immortality. A powerful family. But you're always skulking in alleyways with me. Ready to sympathize with all my failings and neediness. Why? There must be a good reason. Are you really happy with Diva? Or are you just with me because you have no alternatives? Because inside, you're as lonely as I am?"

Solomon does not answer. For a moment, he fantasizes what a satisfying crack Niklas' neck would make if he snapped it. Just as quickly, his anger fades. Replaced by something darker. Something worse.

Despair.

Niklas is right.

From the start, Solomon has thought of this affair as one-sided. Tactful manipulation for the good of business. But a part of him enjoys the pin-dot adoration in Niklas' eyes. Enjoys it, yet still feels isolated. Because, even in this human's company, inundated with passion and sex and worship, Solomon is still so lonely that he wants to scream.

He thinks of Diva. For all his loyalty, he knows nothing about her. Never will. James annoys him, and Nathan disturbs him. Brother Amshel confuses and intimidates him. Karl, despite his moodiness, he secretly admires—but that is the extent of it. He does not love any of them. It is only the thought of belonging to a family—a blood-bond—that keeps them together.

He looks down at Niklas. Flawed, devoted Niklas. Half-blinded by love and self-loathing; teetering toward extinction. For a moment, he wants to tell Niklas that he is being foolish. Tell him not to hold his life so cheap, because Solomon's own existence is nothing to aspire to.

But before he can speak, Niklas raises his head. Tears shining in both eyes.

"My God. It's true…isn't it?"

"Niklas—"

"You don't have to remain with Diva, if you are unhappy, Solomon," Niklas says. "Forget about her—she can't possibly care for you the way I do. If she did, she would want you by her side every moment. Just like me. Please—let's start over together. Just the two of us. Someplace where we can be free."

Solomon shuts his eyes. The pain in Niklas' voice is hypnotic. A voice rises inside him—tantalizing, mournful, a musical-note sprung up a bene placito. Why not? Here is a man who can relate with him as much as anyone ever can. Who wants to remain with him forever. Wants to be part of his present and future. What if he does convince Diva to turn him into a Chevalier? What if they both flee together somewhere, start their lives over?

No more loneliness. No more biding eternity with nothing to look forward to. He'll have a companion, if nothing else.

In the next heartbeat, Solomon nearly laughs.

God.

I must be crazier than Diva.

Turning Niklas into a Chevalier won't ease his loneliness. Hadn't he let Diva turn Karl for the same reason? Except it had only left him with someone as broken as he was. To do that same with Niklas would just repeat the mistake.

Nothing Diva touches stays whole. She's broken inside—and she breaks everyone around her. I realize that now.

If I want to be free, I have to leave her completely.

But it is still too soon. Solomon can fantasize about it. But he cannot carry it out. Because a part of him still wants to believe in Diva. Still wants to imagine a bright future with her—free of lies and jealousy. She may not be much of a Queen—but she is still his Queen. Still family.

He cannot give that up.

Yet.

Besides. Right now, he has duties to fulfill.

"Niklas." Gracefully, Solomon kneels before him, so their knees almost touch. "Do not talk that way. I am not with you because I cannot find alternatives." If I were, you would never even make my list. "I am with you because I care for your welfare. Because I want to help you. There is no need to run yourself down."

Niklas squeezes his moist eyes shut. "Then why can't Amshel accept me as a Chevalier? Why can't I be with you, the way we both want?"

"Hush." Solomon strokes Niklas' hair. "I will think of something. Do not worry. In the past, every Chevalier had to prove his loyalty to Brother Amshel. It was a ritual."

"Like how?" Niklas' eyes open, gleaming with hope.

Solomon pretends to be thinking out loud. "I'm not sure. Something concrete. Which declares, to the all sides, that you are Diva's." It is the farthest thing from the truth. Amshel always prefers underhanded dealings to open declarations. But Niklas does not know that.

"Please, Solomon," he whispers. "I'll do anything. You know that."

Solomon develops his scheme. "In that case, there might be something you could do. Something like—" He shakes his head, as if dismissing the idea. "No. I couldn't ask you that. It is too dangerous."

"What? Tell me."

He has taken the bait. Now Solomon has to reel him in.

"Well," he hesitates, then meets Niklas' eyes. "You could send Red Shield's entire lode of supplies to Vietnam, couldn't you? All of it, as soon as possible. It would treblethe Chiropterans in the area. Add to the chaos. Leading America to terminate their alliance with Red Shield permanently. Could you do that?"

Niklas looks worried. "I-I think so."

Solomon's gaze hardens. "Not good enough, Niklas. Yes, or No. Can you do it?"

"I—" Niklas' expression wavers. He swallows, looking away. Solomon realizes he is still undecided.

Time to play his last card.

Gently, he takes Niklas' face in both hands. Leans in so their lips are inches apart. He can feel Niklas' pulse quickening under his fingertips. Can feel his breathing shift, his excitement burgeoning in the air around them. But his eyes remain on Solomon's. Entranced.

"The time for games is over, Niklas," Solomon says. "I need your answer tonight. Yes, or No."

Niklas' eyes close. He makes no sound.

"Niklas? Tell me."

There is a constricting silence. Then, at last, Niklas speaks.

"Yes." Opening his eyes, he looks at Solomon. All vestiges of restraint—reason—gone. "Yes. I'll do it."


Sooooo…. Who wants a lemon, next chapter? XD Yea, or nay? Lemme know, so I can organize the next installment accordingly!

Review, pretty please!