Heero awakened on the hard, wooden floor of his studio. He wondered for a
few seconds why he was in this particular location, then realizing the
extra warmth that lay next to him. He looked down to see Trowa Barton sound
asleep, his body bundled and tangled up in the velvet draperies they'd
pulled off the walls to cover themselves as they slept.
He admired Trowa's beauty again. The way his slender figure folded into the sheets as he slept, his muscles expanded beneath skin that was smooth and warm in the sunlight that poured from the single window in Heero's studio. His long effeminate eyelashes fluttered, and Heero bent down to kiss Trowa's eyelids. Amazingly, Trowa didn't awaken, and Heero sat up to marvel at Trowa's figure. He breathed to a steady rhythm that Heero listened to closely; it was the music of life.
Heero stood on wobbly knees and peered out the window. He'd never been up this early in his life, never awake to see the sunrise. He witnessed it in all its golden glory, as it stretched across the strong, wide sky. It was comforting; a comfort he hadn't been privy for years. He gazed upon Trowa who lay in a heavy slumber at his feet. Heero glanced at the canvas which still sat upright in front of him.
Heero slid into a pair of pants that lay strewn across the back of the loveseat and walked over to the canvas and sat down slowly, letting his blood circulate before staring at the nearly blank canvas. He decided to start over, to paint over it; before him now was a scene more lovelier than any could be.
//As one sleeps, one is in a state of.sincerity,// thought Heero. //They're unpretentious. Untainted. Pure.//
He ran his fingers through his meddlesome hair, opening his eyes wide in an attempt to stay alert and aware. He was aware of the beauty that slept so soundly before him. He was aware of the temporary light that shone in fuzzy rectangles through the window pane across Trowa's body. He was aware that Trowa might awaken soon; and he began to paint.
Slowly, he picked up a paintbrush, its bristles long and narrow. He rinsed the excess paint that had caked onto the sides of the brush and on the bristles themselves, and watched as the water spiraled into a hazy gray. He dipped the brush into the paint, yellow like the sun, and he made the first virgin strokes onto the canvas.
Soon, the canvas was alight in color, contrast, and light. The figure on the ground slept in a whirlwind of yellows, pinks, and oranges, which contrasted sharply with the darkness of the studio. He depicted Trowa's elegant fingers which gripped the sheet over his body. He established a sense of serenity in Trowa's sleeping state, mixed with a vibrancy found within the sunshine that danced around Trowa's face and eyes. He emphasized the way Trowa's lips curled upwards the tiniest bit as he slept, with a look of contentment and peace only found in sleep.
His fingers, writsts, and arms ghosted across the canvas in a beautiful windstorm of illustration, shaping the beauty of the sight before him like no other could. He found beauty in every line, color, and brush stroke that met the canvas.
//All my life, I've tried again and again to paint life as I knew it, in it's purest form,// thought Heero, as the brush made contact with the canvas again, sending surges of electricity down his spine. //I've wanted to paint something...uncorrupted. And now...life is beginning to paint itself for me, how it wants to be painted. How it wants to be seen, how it wants to be portrayed. I will portray life as we know it. Through this man.//
----------
Heero Yuy was finished.
He sat back to glance over the painting one more time, adding any last finishing touches and, for the first time, finding no complaints. The paint was still drying, the moistness of certain areas shining in the sunlight which had gotten hotter and brighter as the painting was being completed. He stood to close the shutters on the windows, backing away to continue to view his masterpiece.
It was concieted, he knew, to admire one's own painting. But he couldn't help but find nothing in the painting but honesty. Which is what he had meant for his whole life to achieve. Integrity.
He looked down to see Trowa Barton looking up at him with curious, but sleepy eyes.
"Good morning," said Heerp. He knelt to where Trowa lay and kissed the awakening man lightly. He lowered himself to the floor, legs folded beneath each other, back resting against the loveseat.
"Good morning." Trowa inched forward to lean his head and upper torso against Heero's thigh. Heero hooked his arms across the back of Trowa's narrow, but powerful shoulders.
They stayed this way for a while, both taking pleasure in being near one another, of having the other stroke their hair, rub their back, and kiss them softly. Heero was the first to break the silence; they found their conversations to be straight-forward, but concern and tenderness supported every word.
"Are you still tired?" asked Heero.
"A little," said Trowa, burrowing his nose further into Heero's neck. Heero smelled of candle wax, of sweat, and of acrylics; it was an intoxicating combination that was indescribably Heero.
"How long have you been awake?" Trowa asked. Heero reached up with one hand to settle his fingers between the mass of Trowa's light brown hair. He played with the delicate, elegant strands as he spoke softly, afraid to break the morning's serenity.
"Since the sunrise," Heero answered.
Trowa was all of a sudden overcome with sadness. Never once in his life had he missed the sunrise. He speculated the intensity of Heero's effect on him as he rested against Heero's leg.
"I see." He began to play with the loose threads on the cuff of Heero's pant leg, raveling and unraveling them around his fingers.
Heero couldn't help but stifle a yawn. Trowa chuckled underneath his breath.
"You should go back to sleep. You must be tired still." He playfully raised his torso off of Heero's leg and knocked him down to the floor again, pulling Heero on top of him. He softly brushed his lips against Heero's, letting Heero's body absorb into his, their skin warm and inviting to each other.
Heero pressed down onto Trowa's lithe body, indulging with the feel of their skin melting together in the shadows of the studio. "I think I will," he said. "You can go to the kitchen and get something to eat. I won't be painting again until tonight."
Trowa smiled, wrapping his arms around Heero's neck and settling his cheek against Heero's neck as Heero did the same. They breathed in the scents of each other, and sighed contently.
"I would give you all the money I had to stay like this," Heero whispered into Trowa's ear.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Catherine awoke to find the floor empty. Not even a blanket had been laid out, nor a pillow. She sat up in confusion.
//Where is Trowa?// she thought. She looked around once more, and shrugged her shoulders. //Maybe he's up already and put the blankets away. That's Trowa, for you.//
Catherine swung her legs over the side of the bed, her feet calloused and bruised from the heavy work she labored to do in the side shows. Stretching her arms over her head, she yawned plentifully and stood on wobbly legs, like a newborn fawn. She giggled to herself, her own morning clumsiness amusing her. She fixed her nightgown so that it looked remotely presentable, and she opened the door slowly to head to the kitchen.
//Trowa's probably in there,// Catherine thought. She stepped into the kitchen only to find Sebastian sitting at the dining table, sipping iced tea, stirring in the sugar slowly.
"Good morning, madam," greeted Sebastian, standing to offer Catherine a seat. She returned the salutation and sat politely, folding her hands in her lap.
"What time is it, Sebastian?" asked Catherine, looking out the window and seeing the sun nearly at its peak.
"It's nearly eleven o' clock, madam," said Sebastian. "May I prepare you something to eat? A bagel and lox, perhaps?"
"Oh, yes, that would be marvelous," answered Catherine. She'd never been waited upon before; it was a strange, but nice feeling of which she knew she shouldn't take advantage. She and Trowa had left a more taxing life- sleeping on the ground underneath a humid tent and eating whatever they could find at local market stands, which was normally more than they could afford.
Catherine glanced around the kitchen, reminding herself of her original intention of going to the kitchen. "Sebastian?" she called.
"Yes, madam?" answered Sebastian, placing a glass of iced tea in front of Catherine. "There's some sugar in the jar in front of you, if you'd like.
"Thank you, Sebastian." She took a few long sips before continuing with her question. "Have you seen Trowa this morning?"
"Come to think of it, madam, I don't think I have," said Sebastian, his back turned towards Catherine as he prepared her meal.
Catherine furrowed her brow. "Well...do you know where he is?" she asked, curiously.
"I believe he is in Mr. Yuy's bedroom."
Now Catherine was really confused. //I wonder...did Trowa ever come to bed? He went to Mr. Yuy's room for the sitting at midnight...did he stay there the whole night?// She shrugged. //Oh, well. He must be tired; sittings take hours, and he must still be sleeping.//
Sebastian bowed as he set Catherine's breakfast on the table, Catherine nodding her thanks. She began to eat in silence, chewing slowly, savoring the flavors she'd never experienced beyond a piece of stale bread and soured butter.
//It must be nice, to be able to live like this,// she thought to herself. Her gaze wandered to the wall of the corridor that led to her room; she could see it from where she sat at the kitchen table. On the wall were numerous photographs of Heero with all sorts of venerable, respected people, presenting them with a painting, she assumed. She noticed that in all the photographs, Heero was not smiling, nor was he frowning; it was an indifference she had never seen depicted so well.
She also noted how handsome Heero was.
The first time she'd seen him as they walked down the damp, cobblestone streets to Heero's house, Catherine had had an instant attraction to the dark, enigmatic artist. His artistry flowered in every part of him; the way he stood, the way he moved his hands as he spoke, the way his eyes darted back and forth around him, as if aware of every movement within a mile radius. His dark brown hair was unruly, but becoming, and shaded his deep blue eyes that Catherine hadn't made contact with once during her stay. But, oh, how she wanted to.
Her heart ached like it had never ached before. She wondered if it was love...then dismissed it. //It's just a silly little crush,// she thought. //And, besides, Catherine, you're a gypsy. The day a nobleman falls for a gypsy is the day...just don't think about it, Catherine.//
She sat back in her chair, thanking Sebastian politely as he took her plate away for her, leaving her half full glass of iced tea on the table. //I wonder if Trowa's enjoying himself too.//
----------
Trowa stood in front of the mirror, dressed in a newly pressed pair of pants and a starched white shirt that tapered to his waist. It was tucked snugly into his pants which showed off the gypsy's long, powerful legs.
"Isn't this a bit...much, Heero?" asked Trowa, fidgeting in his new attire that had come from Heero's own closet. Heero stood behind Trowa in a similar outfit, a pair of black slacks and a white collared shirt. He stood behind Trowa, fixing imaginary wrinkles on Trowa's shirt. He gazed at Trowa in the mirror and smiled lightly.
"No, it's not," said Heero. He kissed the sides of Trowa's throat, and Trowa sighed in contentment.
"I'm not sure what Catherine would think," he said uncertainly. "I mean...she's never seen me in anything like this...these kinds of clothes."
"What do you mean `these kinds of clothes'?" asked Heero, looking up at Trowa in the mirror, his eyes full of concern.
"Well...a nobleman's clothes. Clothes that don't belong to...people like me."
"Well, then I'll have to take her out to get some clothes as well. I suppose I can't pull THEM out of my closet."
Trowa turned to face Heero. "See, that's the thing...our whole lives we've been condemning people like-" Trowa stopped talking abruptly and turned away from Heero, his cheeks flushed.
Heero stepped forward towards Trowa's back, which now faced him. "You mean, people like me?"
Trowa nodded slowly. "I-I'm sorry."
Heero touched Trowa's shoulder, embracing the taller man lightly from behind. "It's fine. I'm not expecting for you to change the views you've had your whole life. I guess...I want you to learn from me the things you haven't learned. You've taught me much, Trowa, and I suppose I'd like to return the favor."
Trowa smiled, leaning back into Heero's warm hug. "Thank you." He turned around again to face Heero, holding a hand in each of his. "But...we mustn't let Catherine know...what happened here."
Heero nodded. "Of course. We'll just say that when you posed for me, you fell asleep, so I let you sleep in my room."
Trowa nodded in return. "Thank you," he repeated. "Well. Let's go, shall we?" He smiled warmly. It was a smile he'd forgotten. An honest smile.
Heero opened the door for Trowa, and they walked side by side to the kitchen where they saw Catherine sitting in a plain blue collared dress in the kitchen. Her jaw dropped to the ground at the sight of her brother.
"Wow, Trowa, you look fabulous!" she said excitedly, getting up immediately to hug him. Trowa embraced her in return, saying his thanks. Catherine then turned to Heero.
//He really cleaned Trowa up,// thought Catherine, taking Heero's hand. //But Heero looks even better than he did before.// She reveled in the warmth of Heero's arms; she'd lacked the intimate touch of a man her whole life; she was ready to experience it with Heero. She nearly giggled with the touch of Heero's lips to her hand. "You look wonderful as well."
Heero smiled at Trowa over Catherine's shoulder. "Well, I hope, with your brother's permission, to take you into the city, and buy you some new dresses, if you'd like."
Catherine pulled away from Heero and glanced at Trowa, who nodded in approval. She hadn't had new clothes for nearly ten years. She embraced Heero lightly, repeating her thanks.
"Thank you...thank you so much." she said, continuing to hold onto Heero.
Trowa saw the sparkle in his sister's eyes. He was so happy that she was, for once in her life, contented. He also felt a sensation in the back of his mind...scratching at a blackboard, rustling a newspaper...it drove him mad.
--to be continued--
He admired Trowa's beauty again. The way his slender figure folded into the sheets as he slept, his muscles expanded beneath skin that was smooth and warm in the sunlight that poured from the single window in Heero's studio. His long effeminate eyelashes fluttered, and Heero bent down to kiss Trowa's eyelids. Amazingly, Trowa didn't awaken, and Heero sat up to marvel at Trowa's figure. He breathed to a steady rhythm that Heero listened to closely; it was the music of life.
Heero stood on wobbly knees and peered out the window. He'd never been up this early in his life, never awake to see the sunrise. He witnessed it in all its golden glory, as it stretched across the strong, wide sky. It was comforting; a comfort he hadn't been privy for years. He gazed upon Trowa who lay in a heavy slumber at his feet. Heero glanced at the canvas which still sat upright in front of him.
Heero slid into a pair of pants that lay strewn across the back of the loveseat and walked over to the canvas and sat down slowly, letting his blood circulate before staring at the nearly blank canvas. He decided to start over, to paint over it; before him now was a scene more lovelier than any could be.
//As one sleeps, one is in a state of.sincerity,// thought Heero. //They're unpretentious. Untainted. Pure.//
He ran his fingers through his meddlesome hair, opening his eyes wide in an attempt to stay alert and aware. He was aware of the beauty that slept so soundly before him. He was aware of the temporary light that shone in fuzzy rectangles through the window pane across Trowa's body. He was aware that Trowa might awaken soon; and he began to paint.
Slowly, he picked up a paintbrush, its bristles long and narrow. He rinsed the excess paint that had caked onto the sides of the brush and on the bristles themselves, and watched as the water spiraled into a hazy gray. He dipped the brush into the paint, yellow like the sun, and he made the first virgin strokes onto the canvas.
Soon, the canvas was alight in color, contrast, and light. The figure on the ground slept in a whirlwind of yellows, pinks, and oranges, which contrasted sharply with the darkness of the studio. He depicted Trowa's elegant fingers which gripped the sheet over his body. He established a sense of serenity in Trowa's sleeping state, mixed with a vibrancy found within the sunshine that danced around Trowa's face and eyes. He emphasized the way Trowa's lips curled upwards the tiniest bit as he slept, with a look of contentment and peace only found in sleep.
His fingers, writsts, and arms ghosted across the canvas in a beautiful windstorm of illustration, shaping the beauty of the sight before him like no other could. He found beauty in every line, color, and brush stroke that met the canvas.
//All my life, I've tried again and again to paint life as I knew it, in it's purest form,// thought Heero, as the brush made contact with the canvas again, sending surges of electricity down his spine. //I've wanted to paint something...uncorrupted. And now...life is beginning to paint itself for me, how it wants to be painted. How it wants to be seen, how it wants to be portrayed. I will portray life as we know it. Through this man.//
----------
Heero Yuy was finished.
He sat back to glance over the painting one more time, adding any last finishing touches and, for the first time, finding no complaints. The paint was still drying, the moistness of certain areas shining in the sunlight which had gotten hotter and brighter as the painting was being completed. He stood to close the shutters on the windows, backing away to continue to view his masterpiece.
It was concieted, he knew, to admire one's own painting. But he couldn't help but find nothing in the painting but honesty. Which is what he had meant for his whole life to achieve. Integrity.
He looked down to see Trowa Barton looking up at him with curious, but sleepy eyes.
"Good morning," said Heerp. He knelt to where Trowa lay and kissed the awakening man lightly. He lowered himself to the floor, legs folded beneath each other, back resting against the loveseat.
"Good morning." Trowa inched forward to lean his head and upper torso against Heero's thigh. Heero hooked his arms across the back of Trowa's narrow, but powerful shoulders.
They stayed this way for a while, both taking pleasure in being near one another, of having the other stroke their hair, rub their back, and kiss them softly. Heero was the first to break the silence; they found their conversations to be straight-forward, but concern and tenderness supported every word.
"Are you still tired?" asked Heero.
"A little," said Trowa, burrowing his nose further into Heero's neck. Heero smelled of candle wax, of sweat, and of acrylics; it was an intoxicating combination that was indescribably Heero.
"How long have you been awake?" Trowa asked. Heero reached up with one hand to settle his fingers between the mass of Trowa's light brown hair. He played with the delicate, elegant strands as he spoke softly, afraid to break the morning's serenity.
"Since the sunrise," Heero answered.
Trowa was all of a sudden overcome with sadness. Never once in his life had he missed the sunrise. He speculated the intensity of Heero's effect on him as he rested against Heero's leg.
"I see." He began to play with the loose threads on the cuff of Heero's pant leg, raveling and unraveling them around his fingers.
Heero couldn't help but stifle a yawn. Trowa chuckled underneath his breath.
"You should go back to sleep. You must be tired still." He playfully raised his torso off of Heero's leg and knocked him down to the floor again, pulling Heero on top of him. He softly brushed his lips against Heero's, letting Heero's body absorb into his, their skin warm and inviting to each other.
Heero pressed down onto Trowa's lithe body, indulging with the feel of their skin melting together in the shadows of the studio. "I think I will," he said. "You can go to the kitchen and get something to eat. I won't be painting again until tonight."
Trowa smiled, wrapping his arms around Heero's neck and settling his cheek against Heero's neck as Heero did the same. They breathed in the scents of each other, and sighed contently.
"I would give you all the money I had to stay like this," Heero whispered into Trowa's ear.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Catherine awoke to find the floor empty. Not even a blanket had been laid out, nor a pillow. She sat up in confusion.
//Where is Trowa?// she thought. She looked around once more, and shrugged her shoulders. //Maybe he's up already and put the blankets away. That's Trowa, for you.//
Catherine swung her legs over the side of the bed, her feet calloused and bruised from the heavy work she labored to do in the side shows. Stretching her arms over her head, she yawned plentifully and stood on wobbly legs, like a newborn fawn. She giggled to herself, her own morning clumsiness amusing her. She fixed her nightgown so that it looked remotely presentable, and she opened the door slowly to head to the kitchen.
//Trowa's probably in there,// Catherine thought. She stepped into the kitchen only to find Sebastian sitting at the dining table, sipping iced tea, stirring in the sugar slowly.
"Good morning, madam," greeted Sebastian, standing to offer Catherine a seat. She returned the salutation and sat politely, folding her hands in her lap.
"What time is it, Sebastian?" asked Catherine, looking out the window and seeing the sun nearly at its peak.
"It's nearly eleven o' clock, madam," said Sebastian. "May I prepare you something to eat? A bagel and lox, perhaps?"
"Oh, yes, that would be marvelous," answered Catherine. She'd never been waited upon before; it was a strange, but nice feeling of which she knew she shouldn't take advantage. She and Trowa had left a more taxing life- sleeping on the ground underneath a humid tent and eating whatever they could find at local market stands, which was normally more than they could afford.
Catherine glanced around the kitchen, reminding herself of her original intention of going to the kitchen. "Sebastian?" she called.
"Yes, madam?" answered Sebastian, placing a glass of iced tea in front of Catherine. "There's some sugar in the jar in front of you, if you'd like.
"Thank you, Sebastian." She took a few long sips before continuing with her question. "Have you seen Trowa this morning?"
"Come to think of it, madam, I don't think I have," said Sebastian, his back turned towards Catherine as he prepared her meal.
Catherine furrowed her brow. "Well...do you know where he is?" she asked, curiously.
"I believe he is in Mr. Yuy's bedroom."
Now Catherine was really confused. //I wonder...did Trowa ever come to bed? He went to Mr. Yuy's room for the sitting at midnight...did he stay there the whole night?// She shrugged. //Oh, well. He must be tired; sittings take hours, and he must still be sleeping.//
Sebastian bowed as he set Catherine's breakfast on the table, Catherine nodding her thanks. She began to eat in silence, chewing slowly, savoring the flavors she'd never experienced beyond a piece of stale bread and soured butter.
//It must be nice, to be able to live like this,// she thought to herself. Her gaze wandered to the wall of the corridor that led to her room; she could see it from where she sat at the kitchen table. On the wall were numerous photographs of Heero with all sorts of venerable, respected people, presenting them with a painting, she assumed. She noticed that in all the photographs, Heero was not smiling, nor was he frowning; it was an indifference she had never seen depicted so well.
She also noted how handsome Heero was.
The first time she'd seen him as they walked down the damp, cobblestone streets to Heero's house, Catherine had had an instant attraction to the dark, enigmatic artist. His artistry flowered in every part of him; the way he stood, the way he moved his hands as he spoke, the way his eyes darted back and forth around him, as if aware of every movement within a mile radius. His dark brown hair was unruly, but becoming, and shaded his deep blue eyes that Catherine hadn't made contact with once during her stay. But, oh, how she wanted to.
Her heart ached like it had never ached before. She wondered if it was love...then dismissed it. //It's just a silly little crush,// she thought. //And, besides, Catherine, you're a gypsy. The day a nobleman falls for a gypsy is the day...just don't think about it, Catherine.//
She sat back in her chair, thanking Sebastian politely as he took her plate away for her, leaving her half full glass of iced tea on the table. //I wonder if Trowa's enjoying himself too.//
----------
Trowa stood in front of the mirror, dressed in a newly pressed pair of pants and a starched white shirt that tapered to his waist. It was tucked snugly into his pants which showed off the gypsy's long, powerful legs.
"Isn't this a bit...much, Heero?" asked Trowa, fidgeting in his new attire that had come from Heero's own closet. Heero stood behind Trowa in a similar outfit, a pair of black slacks and a white collared shirt. He stood behind Trowa, fixing imaginary wrinkles on Trowa's shirt. He gazed at Trowa in the mirror and smiled lightly.
"No, it's not," said Heero. He kissed the sides of Trowa's throat, and Trowa sighed in contentment.
"I'm not sure what Catherine would think," he said uncertainly. "I mean...she's never seen me in anything like this...these kinds of clothes."
"What do you mean `these kinds of clothes'?" asked Heero, looking up at Trowa in the mirror, his eyes full of concern.
"Well...a nobleman's clothes. Clothes that don't belong to...people like me."
"Well, then I'll have to take her out to get some clothes as well. I suppose I can't pull THEM out of my closet."
Trowa turned to face Heero. "See, that's the thing...our whole lives we've been condemning people like-" Trowa stopped talking abruptly and turned away from Heero, his cheeks flushed.
Heero stepped forward towards Trowa's back, which now faced him. "You mean, people like me?"
Trowa nodded slowly. "I-I'm sorry."
Heero touched Trowa's shoulder, embracing the taller man lightly from behind. "It's fine. I'm not expecting for you to change the views you've had your whole life. I guess...I want you to learn from me the things you haven't learned. You've taught me much, Trowa, and I suppose I'd like to return the favor."
Trowa smiled, leaning back into Heero's warm hug. "Thank you." He turned around again to face Heero, holding a hand in each of his. "But...we mustn't let Catherine know...what happened here."
Heero nodded. "Of course. We'll just say that when you posed for me, you fell asleep, so I let you sleep in my room."
Trowa nodded in return. "Thank you," he repeated. "Well. Let's go, shall we?" He smiled warmly. It was a smile he'd forgotten. An honest smile.
Heero opened the door for Trowa, and they walked side by side to the kitchen where they saw Catherine sitting in a plain blue collared dress in the kitchen. Her jaw dropped to the ground at the sight of her brother.
"Wow, Trowa, you look fabulous!" she said excitedly, getting up immediately to hug him. Trowa embraced her in return, saying his thanks. Catherine then turned to Heero.
//He really cleaned Trowa up,// thought Catherine, taking Heero's hand. //But Heero looks even better than he did before.// She reveled in the warmth of Heero's arms; she'd lacked the intimate touch of a man her whole life; she was ready to experience it with Heero. She nearly giggled with the touch of Heero's lips to her hand. "You look wonderful as well."
Heero smiled at Trowa over Catherine's shoulder. "Well, I hope, with your brother's permission, to take you into the city, and buy you some new dresses, if you'd like."
Catherine pulled away from Heero and glanced at Trowa, who nodded in approval. She hadn't had new clothes for nearly ten years. She embraced Heero lightly, repeating her thanks.
"Thank you...thank you so much." she said, continuing to hold onto Heero.
Trowa saw the sparkle in his sister's eyes. He was so happy that she was, for once in her life, contented. He also felt a sensation in the back of his mind...scratching at a blackboard, rustling a newspaper...it drove him mad.
--to be continued--