Alright, I made my first boo-boo as far as the dates are concerned. I'll tell you all about it in the notes for this Episode, but suffice it to say, due to a clerical error, you're getting this a day early. *grin* Better than a day late, right? =^_~= So, it's going to say June 17th because...well, just because. Visit my website for details of my supreme idiocy.
Disclaimer #1: I had three dozen of those damn "Roll Up the Rim to Win" cups from Tim Hortons over the last two months, and not ONE of them said "You win ultimate control over Gundam Wing and all the characters therein." I did, however, win two coffees, a bagel, a couple of donuts, and a cookie. I don't have them anymore *burp* so you can't sue me for them. =P
Disclaimer #2: I was an English major, so when I write, I write wordy. You have been warned. Muahahahahaaaa....Suggested font: Times New Roman
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Episode Four: Just A Note "You never get a second chance to make a first impression, unless someone likes your second impression more than the first." ~Anonymous June 17th, 1901 Somewhere far north of London was the sleepy village of Cloverderry Glen in the valley of Innisdale; somewhere in that sleepy village was a tiny building with stone walls and a thatched roof, in which resided the post office and general store. It was normally run by Mrs. Mavis Trimble, a jolly, pudgy woman approaching the age of fifty, but she was beginning to find the work too much for her. She opened the shop on the morning of the 17th and patiently waited for the villagers to trickle in a few at a time, to fill their needs after the weekend. As she was sorting the morning mail, her equally pudgy husband, Wilfred Trimble, poked his head in the door with good news. He spoke in a deep drawl typical to the area, an accent associated with men of the soil. "Mavis! 'Ere, I've brung you someone to help with the shop!" he announced. The portly farmer waddled in and hoisted up his sagging trousers by the belt. "Help with the shop?" Mavis queried. "But I thought there weren't nobody willin' in the village, they've all got other commitments!" Wilfred took off his floppy sun hat and beat the dust out of it. "T'isn't somebody from the village, t'is some new lass come from the Continent. She's 'ere by 'erself and needs the work, so I thought--" "Is she pretty?" Mavis asked with a note of playful suspicion. Wilfred grinned. "She ain't no sow headed for market, that's for sure!" Mavis shook her head and clucked her tongue. "Oh, dry up, you old goat. Show the lass in and let's have a look at her." "Ar," he agreed, and toddled off to fetch the young lady. A moment later he returned with a slim, statuesque woman in tow, wearing a two-piece travelling dress with a tweed coat and cotton skirt in similar shades of gray. She carried a handbag and a single suitcase, which she set down on the floor of the shop as soon as she entered. The hat she wore was a simple style, decorated with artificial cherries that warmed the cool, dark tone of her hair. There was something odd about that hair, Mavis thought; it was short at the back, but long in the front, and it partly covered the woman's eyes. "Well, aren't you a pretty thing," Mavis cooed in a motherly fashion. "And what's your name, dear?" The dark-haired woman started to say her name as a reflex, then stopped herself quickly, looking a bit nervous. Finally, she extended a gloved hand. "Lucille. Please call me Lucille." Mavis took her hand and patted it, smiling. "Pretty name for a pretty lass. My Wilfred tells me you need a bit o' work, is that right?" Lucille nodded. "Yes, ma'am, I'm alone in your country, for the moment, and I could use a job so I can find someplace to stay." "You've got nowheres to lay yer 'ead at night? Oh, what a pity...'ere, 'ang on...t'ain't no reason why you couldn't 'ave our spare room in the cottage! We could 'ave you as a lodger...couldn't we, Wilfred?" Wilfred nodded thoughtfully. "Ar." "And we can let you help out around the 'ouse to earn your keep, couldn't we, Wilfred?" "Ar," he repeated. Lucille blushed. "Oh, no, I couldn't impose on you like that, I really should just go find a boarding house or a hostel--" "No no no no, my dear, I won't hear of it. Wilfred, take that suitcase back 'ome and tidy up the spare room a bit...and you, my dear, you come with me and I'll show you 'round the shop!" The bubbly woman hustled Wilfred out the door with Lucille's suitcase, then took the girl behind the counter and began showing her the basics of running the post office. Lucille took off her hat and gloves, and set them under the counter with her handbag, smiling graciously. She had come to England with practically nothing, bounding from town to town as she sought little more than a place to hide, and suddenly she had a job and a home! What luck! Wilfred poked his head back in the door suddenly. He was still carrying the suitcase, and he whispered frantically and urgently across the room to Mavis. "Look sharp, you! T'is Lord Jeffrhyss comin' up the road!" Wilfred disappeared as quickly as he came. Mavis looked flustered. "Oh bother. Lord Jeffrhyss, and on your first day, too." She trotted quickly to the basket of half-sorted mail and started flipping through the letters. "Must be 'ere somewheres..." Puzzled, Lucille leaned over the woman's shoulder. "Who's Lord Jeffries?" The woman didn't answer until she found what she knew had to be there. She plucked a letter out of the basket and handed it to Lucille. "That's Lord Jeffrhyss. Lives down the road aways, in the old farmhouse by the mill wheel. Make no mistake, he's a strange one...never sets foot in the village unless it's to pick up a letter or drop one off." Mavis drew air in through her teeth in short sips. "Funny thing is...his Lordship always knows when there's a letter come for 'im, without being told. That one only came this mornin', and 'ere he is!" Lucille's eyes widened at the mystery; this man did sound strange. She read the envelope in her hand carefully; it was postmarked in London. The name Jeffries was spelled 'J-e-f-f-r-h-y-s-s', and Lucille was quite sure she'd never seen it written that way before; even the man's name didn't look normal. Or natural. "He's nought to be afraid of, mind you," Mavis continued, "he don't chat much, just picks up his post and leaves, that's all." The door opened and Lucille bristled, but it was only an old woman from the village. She and Mavis appeared to be close friends, as they immediately went off in a corner to gossip, leaving Lucille to fend for herself. The door opened a second time and the young woman gasped. There was much more Mavis could have told her about Lord Jeffrhyss. A man with long gray hair and a tidy moustache slowly entered the shop. One of his arms was missing at the elbow, replaced with a wooden appendage and an iron hook. Both of his legs ended at the knees where his trouser legs were knotted to keep from flapping about, and he walked on two wooden peglegs like an impoverished pirate. His one good arm held a heavy cane which he used to steady himself, and he wore a long black coat that came an inch away from draping on the ground, hiding most of his body. His eyes were obscured by small, round, dark spectacles. Lord Jeffrhyss looked at Mavis, who was occupied with her chat, then looked at Lucille standing behind the counter. She couldn't see his eyes, but nevertheless felt impaled on their cold gaze. He began plodding towards her in a dignified manner, and she suddenly wanted to bolt from the shop and never return; his very presence made her skin crawl. Finally, he reached the counter and waited, leaning his cane against a display of custard powder tins. Lucille stood frozen for a few moments before remembering what it was he wanted. She looked at the letter in her hands and held it out with trepidation. Jeffrhyss took the letter and put it in his coat pocket. "You're new," he commented. His voice was gutteral and without any hint of local accent. Lucille swallowed. "Yes, your Lordship." The old man seemed to smirk. "Warned you about me, did they?" "Told me, your Lordship, else how could I have know what letter to give you?" She knew instantly that she shouldn't have challenged him, but it was too late. His mouth twitched and he took hold of his cane. For a moment, Lucille feared he would strike her with it. "You have a secret," he said simply. When the young woman gaped and provided no response, he continued. "Everyone who looks at me that way has a secret. I shall have to decide whether yours will be of any use to me." With that cryptic remark, he turned and plodded slowly back out of the shop, leaving a stunned Lucille gripping the edge of the counter in an effort to stay standing. Her head was swimming with an eerie fright. What could he find out about me? What might he already know? It's no good, I can't stay here, not with people like that snooping around, can't risk anyone finding out-- "Has he gone already?" Mavis sang cheerily. The other woman she'd been gossiping with was picking through the selection of tea bags, so Mavis had come back to the counter. Lucille shook herself to attention. "Yes, he...he took his letter and left, just like you said." "Oh, I am glad he dinnit give you no trouble, he's just an odd sorta fellow, is all. After dealin' with 'im, I'm sure you'll be able to handle this job without any trouble at all. I must say, it'll be lovely to 'ave someone 'elping me, the old back's been playing up summat awful and I just can't look after this place the way I used to. T'is lovely there being a nice young lass such as yerself about the place." The woman smiled and patted the girl's arm. "Now, step this way and I'll show you the till..." As she demonstrated various shop procedures, the good-natured Lucille suddenly felt guilty about wanting to run away again. Poor Mrs. Trimble...she seems to be depending on me already, and I've had so few chances to make a friend in England...I can't possibly leave now. She bowed her head and thought about how her faraway love would react to her running from her problems, old and new. He wouldn't like it one bit, he'd tell me to stay and fight. Easy for him to say... Her secret love, the reson she was forced to run, would never have backed down the way she had; he was fighting bravely on the battlefields of South Africa, and he would surely think her a coward for leaving a good job and a warm bed and plenty of food because of a scary old man with a cane. Lucille lifted her head at last. I'll stay, to earn your respect, my love. At least, until someone in this sleepy village discovered who she was and why she was there, then a new decision would have to be made. **********The heat of the midday sun forced Trowa and Quatre to seek refuge in the kitchen, and Duo was happy to provide them with tea and biscuits in exchange for some lively conversation. Relieved to be indoors, they sat around the heavy kitchen table and chatted aimlessly. Duo propped a thin cookbook against a bag of flour and stirred a bowl of biscuit dough while they talked. Once again, Quatre had been assigned the task of finding suitable attire for the new indoor staff member, and the previous Thursday saw them buying stacks of chef's uniforms, crisp white suits with two rows of black buttons down the front. On the same shopping trip, Quatre learned that Duo was unable to read, and hunted down several children's books about cookery that featured colourful illustrations alongside each recipe's instructions. Duo also insisted on a floppy white chef's hat, 'the kind all the really fashionable French chefs' wore. He absentmindedly played with the brim as he tossed some sultana raisins into the dough. "Aw, c'mon guys, he's really not that bad..." the chef pleaded. Quatre took a sip of tea. "Doesn't he make you the least bit nervous?" "Well, kinda," Duo said with a shrug, "but he hasn't done anything wrong." "You feel safe around him?" Trowa added. Duo stopped stirring the dough and thought about that. "Okay, he did actually throw a pillow at me because he claimed I was snoring...and he smacked me a couple times for bugging him while he was trying to read the newspaper...and he's constantly telling me to shut up..." "There, see?" Quatre said triumphantly. "He hits you because he's mean. He's mean because he's edgy. He's edgy because he's hiding something, right?" Duo sighed. "Yeah, whatever, I guess." Quatre set his tea down and pointed a terse finger at Duo. "All the more reason for you to stay away from him. Whatever he's into on the side could be terribly dangerous, and I wouldn't want to see you get hurt, alright?" "How am I gonna stay away from him when we sleep in the same room? It's not like I've got anywhere else to go, unless I wanna sleep in the bathtub!" The debate was interrupted by a bell ringing on the board in the next room, followed by footsteps heading downstairs. The object of their discussion was approaching. "Just don't push him too far right now, that's all," Quatre whispered. A tired and haggard Heero tramped quickly down the stairs, walked briskly past the others around the table without acknowledging them, and went straight into the bell room. He stared at the ringing bell and the label above it. "Third floor," he growled, exasperated. "I was just ON the third floor!!" The others froze in their spots, afraid to make the slightest move, as he stormed past them again and charged up the stairs, furious. Nobody made a sound until he was well and truly gone. Duo dipped a finger in the bowl of sugary goo and licked it clean. "Y'know, there could be another reason why he's so edgy," he said with sarcasm, smacking his lips. "If you ask me, he's got the toughest job out of all of us. We all know damn well Otto doesn't lift a finger." Trowa looked down at his tea. "I've heard Miss Relena yelling out the window for him if he doesn't show up quick enough. If he isn't there as soon as she calls him, she thinks he's out wasting time in the garden." "She won't let anyone else but him make tea for her, either," Quatre added, "and she expects him to follow her around while she's making inspections of the house. I'm surprised Frederick isn't jealous." Duo measured out some baking soda according to the illustrations and dumped it casually into the batter. "Makes you wonder why a guy so independant and so angry at the whole world lets himself be led around by the nose by 'Miss Junior Queen', 1901." He shrugged again; so did the other two. Several minutes passed, and footsteps were heard on the stairs again, only much slower this time. Already glaring at nothing, Heero walked past the trio into the bell room and leaned against the wall opposite the board with his arms folded across his chest. He had discarded his jacket and was now only in his shirt and waistcoat, and duty trousers, wilting from the summer heat and the sprints up and down the stairs. Trowa and Quatre stayed put and ignored the glowering butler, but Duo couldn't help but poke his head into the tiny bell room. Heero was glaring fiercely at the board full of bells. Duo leaned against the doorframe, licking batter off a mixing spoon. "Hey, Heero! Trying to move them using the power of your mind?" He smirked. "Duo." "Yeah?" "Shut up." Duo stepped back into the kitchen and pointed violently at the bell room, mouthing the words 'See? See?' The other two boys grinned and ducked their heads a little. Not a sound was heard for a long time, during which Duo finished his tea biscuit batter and popped his latest experiment into the oven. Trowa and Quatre finished their tea and were about to head back outside when Duo silently motioned them to stay. Heero had stepped away from the wall and was standing a scant few inches away from the bells. After a long silence, he put his hands on his hips and shook his head. "This has got to go." The trio looked at each other and shrugged again. The chef decided to be brave and walked back to the doorframe. "Duo..." "I didn't say anything!" "No..." Heero said, wincing, "you're very familiar with this city, correct?" Duo appreciated him not over-emphasizing the reason why. "Yeah, sure! You know what they used to say about me? 'If Maxwell can't find it, it won't be worth looking for!'" Heero finally stepped out of the bell room. "Then you'll know where I can find shops that sell musical instruments?" The braided chef paused to think, but before he could answer, Quatre piped up excitedly. "There's a huge music store on Winchester Street, they've got everything! And Mr. Crenshaw there is so nice, if there's anything you don't see, he can order it for you, and they have the most wonderful...practice room...for, um..." Quatre reddened under the force of three pairs of eyes staring at him. Gardeners weren't supposed to know about music stores. He muttered something to the effect of having heard about the store from a past guest at the manor, and excused himself to scamper back to the front garden, blushing. Trowa gazed after him with worry, but the other two kept right on talking. "Pretty much anything you can't find anywhere else shows up in the Portobello Road eventually," Duo suggested. Heero nodded and took Duo's arm, pulling him towards the stairs. "Come on." "Wait a minute, right now? I've got stuff baking! I can't leave!" "I have less than two hours before I'm officially needed again, and I want this done today," Heero snapped, dragging the chef along. Duo looked helplessly at the cinnamon-haired stable boy. "Trowa! I'm counting on you, man!" he yelled as he was hauled up the stairs. "When the little hand's on two and the big hand's on four, take the biscuits out of the oven!!" Trowa smiled and shook his head as they left. We'll have to draw straws to see who gets to teach Duo how to tell time. As soon as they were outside, Heero flagged down a hansom cab and they were taken to the music store on Winchester Street. Just as Quatre said, it was a huge shop, and Mr. Crenshaw was more than helpful. Heero asked him for something that nearly made Duo's eyebrows fly off his face; he asked for bells. Mr. Crenshaw produced a large range of chimes and handbells from the storeroom, and allowed Heero to tap them all and listen to the sounds they produced. After a half-hour's deliberation, he purchased nearly 30 bells, all different sizes; Duo almost passed out when his companion pulled a thick wad of pound notes out of his pocket and handed over more than two weeks salary as if it were nothing. They visited two more music shops and collected even more bells before reaching the Portobello Road market. There, after a lengthy search, Heero came across an old sailor flogging bells scavenged off small ships that had outlived their seaworthy years. He bought man's entire inventory, again handing over a substantial amount of money without any regard at all. Lastly, they came upon a stall where a small girl was trying unsuccessfully to shift a load of broken toys at scrap prices. One piece in particular caught Duo's eye, a little platform painted with holly for Christmas, on which were mounted eight brightly-coloured birds with flexible legs. He picked it up gingerly and admired it. "What's this?" he asked the girl. "They're watchbirds, sir," said the tiny eight-year-old voice, "from Germany. They fly about the house before Christmas to see if the children are being good, then on Christmas morning they fly to the tree to watch them open their presents." "No kidding!" Duo chirped, smiling. He noticed that in front of each bird was a tiny silver bell, and that when you pushed a bird's tail down, it sprang forward and struck the bell with it's beak. The sound caught Heero's ear, and he came closer to inspect the toy with interest. "These watchbirds are special, sir, they don't usually have bells and all that. These ones sit on that perch when they're not on the tree, and you can play a tune with them!" The girl looked a bit sad. "Only they don't move by themselves no more...something's broken." Heero noticed how Duo couldn't take his eyes off the colourful birds, and how he stroked their tiny beaks and wings as if they were real. He blanked out for a few moments, aware of nothing else but the boy's violet eyes shining as brightly as the artificial plumage, and his pale, thin fingers travelling along the eight tiny silhouettes. Heero squinted and shook his head, wondering if he'd been out in the sun too long. He took a good look at the bells attached to the toy that fascinated his companion so. They weren't exactly what he was looking for, but they were close enough, and he decided to purchase the toy. Seeing how thin and poorly the girl looked, and remembering how twig-like Duo's arm had felt in his grasp days earlier, Heero gave her three times what she was asking for the musical watchbirds...a small sacrifice for the two big smiles he was given in return. They carted their treasures back to the manor just before tea time; Heero stashed the bells in the tiny room off the kitchen and served tea on schedule, letting the other boys puzzle over what he was up to. Before dinner and for a long time after dinner, he secluded himself in the bell room with hammers and nails and bits of wire, and several metal brackets designed for hanging potted plants off the side of a building. Hours of banging and clanging later, the suspense was too much. Duo, Trowa and Quatre stood at the entrance to the bell room and watched Heero finish his work. He had removed all the bells that had been on the board and replaced them with those he had purchased that day. Starting in the bottom left-hand corner was the largest, and they decreased in size across the row, and again up the next two rows, finishing with the smallest bell in the top right-hand corner. Quatre picked one of the old bells up off the floor and look at it worriedly. "Heero, did Otto say you could do this?" "No," he answered simply. He picked up the hammer and drove a few extra nails through the board and into the wall to support the extra weight. "Oh man, he's gonna have kittens when he sees this," Duo said, standing behind Heero and looking over his shoulder. "What was wrong with the old bells, anyway?" Heero began rearranging the room labels above the bells so that the rooms were listed roughly clockwise from the west stairs, which were closest to the kitchen. "They all sounded the same." Quatre smiled with instant understanding as Heero tapped each bell in turn, while reading it's label, recording the sound and associating it with it's newly-assigned room. The bells were all exactly a semitone apart and all distinctly different. When the modifications were complete, he swept past the boys into the kitchen, sat down in a chair facing away from the bell room, and slowly stretched the kinks out of his arms. Within a few minutes of finishing, a bell sounded from somewhere in the house. The tone was light and airy, somewhere around high E flat. Heero rose from his chair and straightened his waistcoat. "If you'll excuse me, I'm wanted in the second floor library." He disappeared quite calmly up the stairs. The boys looked at each other, speechless. Trowa stepped into the bell room and read the label above the bell that rang, still moving slightly on it's hook. "Second floor library..." he said with awe. Eventually that night, the housemaids trickled down to see what Heero had done, and he patiently let them tap bells at random while he called out the names of the rooms they belonged to. Low G natural, front parlour. High F sharp, master bedroom. Middle C, conservatory. The sounds could even be heard from the top of the west stairs. Everyone, even Elsie, had to admit that Heero was much more clever than they had initially given him credit for. As the sun set on the butler in his kitchen chair, and on the other servants ringing bells for fun, Otto crept down the west stairs and stood on the very last step. No one could see him but Heero; he listened to the goings-on and glared as the dark-haired boy looked him defiantly and triumphantly in the face, with the tiniest hint of a smug little grin. The tortuous farce Otto had played out while Relena was in Bournemouth was not to be repeated. **********Duo turned down the covers on his bed, brushed out his hair and re-braided it, all before Heero came back from changing clothes. They wore nearly identical long-sleeved pajamas, evidence that the same fair-haired boy had picked out most of their clothes for them. Duo's were solid black with white buttons down the front; Heero's were similar except the top was a pullover style in a deep forest green. Before sitting down on his own bed, Heero handed Duo a bundle of something wrapped up in his handkerchief. "You can have these," he said. Duo looked up with those big, bright eyes and smiled. "A surprise? For me?" He loved surprises. Duo carefully unwrapped the bundle and found eight little painted birds inside. Heero watched in mild amusement as the braided boy's face glowed with joy. "Whoa...seriously? I can keep these?" Heero shrugged. "I only needed the bells they came with, and you seemed to like them..." "Hey, thanks, pal!" Duo propped one of the birds on his finger and whistled at it, pretending it would chirp back every time it bounced back and forth on it's springy legs. He sighed happily. "Thank you, Heero, I mean that. This is great." I don't care what the others think of you...you're not dangerous, you can't possibly be. Heero grunted in a noncommittal way and climbed into bed. Simple minds, simple pleasures, he thought. He watched the other boy play with his new toys for quite awhile before letting them perch on the bedside table for the night. Somehow, the noise didn't bother him...too much. Elsewhere in the house, Trowa was plagued by a restless sleep from which he woke over and over for no reason. A few minutes asleep, a few minutes awake, soon stretched into a few hours, and he began to worry the whole night would be like this. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked around the room and its bleak concrete walls. The basement chamber he shared with the gardener was dark, dingy and quite dull to look at, but nothing seemed out of place, and there were no noises that could have kept him awake. He looked across the room at Quatre's bunk; the smallish lump under the covers was motionless, and appeared to be soundly asleep. Thinking something over, Trowa ran a hand through his bangs and crept out of bed; he padded across the cold stone floor and leaned over the smallish lump. Maybe it is just me...it doesn't seem to have woken him up. The lump was very still...almost too still; Trowa watched it for awhile and started to worry. The lump wasn't breathing. "Quatre?" he whispered. The lump gave no response. Trowa reached out and grabbed the lump between it's shoulder and neck. "Quatre!" Finally he yanked the covers off and blinked in surprise--Quatre was gone and two squishy pillows had been left in his place. Trowa was immediately relieved that his friend hadn't stopped breathing in the middle of the night, but relief was soon replaced by worry as he wondered where the gardener could have gone at such a late hour. He tossed on a pair of shoes and slipped out into the back yard to look for him. By the time he reached the gazebo, Trowa could hear a faint, lilting sound drifting to his ears on the night breeze. It grew steadily louder as he moved closer to the back wall, centered between the stables and the potting shed. He squinted with confusion; there was music coming from behind the huge oak tree marking the center of the back wall, a haunting melody filled with such longing and sadness that it brought tears to his emerald eyes. He ducked behind a nearby tree and cleared his mind of all stray thoughts and feelings, not wanting to trigger the sixth sense he found so charming about the blond boy. Sure enough, there was Quatre, standing behind the massive oak that completely hid him from the view of the manor. His eyes were shut against the glow of the moon, and his pale hand guided a bow across the strings of a mournful violin. The song went on for the longest time, crying out hopelessly from the depths of the boy's soul. When his arms could no longer bear the weight of the instrument, Quatre slumped to the ground, leaning against the tree's gnarled, rough roots. He rested his arms on his knees and brushed fresh tears away from his pale face, offering a plaintive sigh to the moon and stars, his audience. "Be well, father." Trowa suddenly felt guilty for silently intruding on his friend's most private moment, and decided it would be best if he didn't stay. Quatre remained in his spot, looking up at the night sky and lost in his reverie until the tiny snap of a twig made him look around, startled. He set the violin down on the grass and peeked out from behind the tree, still wiping his tear-stained face with his sleeve. There was no one at all to be seen. The backyard was completely empty. I mustn't give in to my imagination, he thought. With that he sat back down against the tree trunk and wrapped his arms tightly around himself, praying the night would be over soon. |
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Next, in Episode Six: Duo thinks he can fill one more job at Bridlewood with one of his friends from the street, but only if he can find her! Relena takes Heero to see the Royal Ascot races, where he begins to ply her for information about her Uncle...what could make him so interested in a man he's never met?
Awww...what a sweet thought for Father's Day, ne? Argh! I'm, like, three hours later than usual, gomen! But hey, lots of new things happening. Who wants to guess the identity of Lord Jeffrhyss and "Lucille", and even her secret love fighting in Africa? Saaaa, you're smart peeps, you can figure it out! =^_~= It won't be the last time we see them. And there WILL be some highly musical people wondering how I could fit the bells on the board, yes I know it's next to impossible but HEY! this is fiction, people. =P It's magic. And yes, I've been dragging out this Quatre-has-a-secret thing for a long time, don't worry, there's a point to this and I'm getting there, okey-smokey? =^_^= *whips out calendar* I'll need a few extra days on the next ep, let's say....um....June 21st. Right? right. Baibai!