Author's Notes: Well, you see… it's mostly a filler chapter, composed of a couple of slightly… random scenes, in which I don't stick to Seymour's point of view too often. In fact, reading this is completely optional. (Hmm, it makes me wonder… maybe I should've posted the fourth chapter straight away?) Anyway, I was trying to go easy on the poor kid this time, and since he needed a friend and/or a father figure soooo badly… -there is a long pause- …Seymour's grandpa is back, along with his infuriating superiority complex. And there's also a new, stupid OC, who was supposed to be a cool guy… but I guess something's gone terribly wrong along the way…
Actually, the original version of this chapter used to be rather humorous… and I felt quite tempted to leave it like that, but then again, random silliness in the middle of a sad fic wouldn't look too well, would it? Enjoy the edited version, then… serious, yet with a slight touch of sarcasm. Oh yeah, and I changed the title, not that it matters much.
To Silvie-chan, Shimmersea, Silver Chaotic of Randomia, Faraway Down, Wot Wot Work and Neko Kuroban– thanks for reading, enjoying, reviewing and pointing out my mistakes… which have already been fixed, by the way. I hope you'll like this chapter, too… although I still have many doubts about that… SCoR, please, don't kill me for being such a slow updater… -covers- I've already started the seventh chapter of 'Adolescence', but I still need to edit the previous five, before I can actually put them on this site!
Yay! My appeal's working! Now, look straight into my eyes and repeat: "I will write a Seymour fic this week, I will write a Seymour fic this week…" ...did it help? Anyway, it feels good to know that some of you are at least considering this… don't give up on your ideas, I beg of you!
Part Three
Moving On
"Mother, please…! I don't want you to become a fayth!" his voice grows louder, desperate. Why won't she listen to him anymore? Why are her eyes so distant? "Please… don't…"
"It must be done," she replies evenly. "There is no other way. Use me and defeat Sin… only then will the people accept you."
"I don't care about them!" Why can't she understand? "I need you, mother! No one else!"
"Seymour…" her expression doesn't change.
"We don't have to do this–"
"Please, hurry. I'm afraid I don't… have much time left."
"But mother–"
"Come, Seymour," she isn't even looking at him as she turns and starts to walk away, farther into the dome. A couple of moments later, her thin frame is swallowed by darkness.
"No, mother!" he cries after her. "Please, come back…"
"My lord." The guard's fingers on his shoulder are cold, heavy. He won't meet Seymour's eyes, either. "Let's go."
"My lord? May I?"
He woke up with a start in a cool, tiny room, where he had been dozing right next to the window; his hands wrapped tightly around his knees. With a soft sigh – why was his heart pounding like this, he had no idea – he stretched his legs and yawned, noticing absently that it had once again begun to snow outside.
"Your highness? May I?" there was another knock on the door, followed by a long pause, during which the man behind the wall must have eventually realized that he would not receive an invitation… and decided to enter, anyway.
It was Faris, of course, a young, stunningly handsome, absolutely infuriating Guado officer. Refusing to acknowledge the guard's presence, Seymour shrugged, once again turning his head to the window. Those big, heavy snowflakes looked so pretty, especially now, when the sun was–
"Your highness?" the captain repeated, his voice half-worried, half-demanding.
"What is it?" Seymour finally asked – when it became obvious that, unfortunately, the man wouldn't just leave.
The officer frowned at the choice of language, but decided to refrain from any unnecessary comments. "May I speak to you for a moment, my lord?"
"No, you may not."
"Shimoa-sama…" Faris sighed. "It is really important. I need to know what happened to Avalon-dono, because–"
"She is dead, I have already told you that," Seymour looked at the guard at last, meeting the man's concerned gaze. "…Leave."
"I cannot, my lord. I have to send a messenger to Jyscal-roushi and I will not leave until–"
"Don't you ever listen?" the boy interrupted sharply, much sharper than he had intended. "I said I don't remember! Why won't you stop bothering me!"
The captain's long, pointy ears fell slightly; truth to be told, he was a gentle, compassionate man, definitely too soft for his own good. "I…" he began, lowering his eyes to the floor, "I am sorry, Shimoa-sama. Please, forgive me."
Seymour watched the man walk away, then sighed heavily, resting his cheek against the chilly pane. He hadn't been lying – he really couldn't recall anything, except for the fact that his mother had died and somehow ended up as a fayth… but he wasn't going to tell Faris that, of course. Zanarkand still haunted him in his dreams, he knew, for he would often wake up in the middle of the night, drenched with cold sweat and breathing heavily, as if he had been running for miles. However, he never remembered any of those nightmares… and it was perhaps for the best.
If this was how early summer on Mount Gagazet looked like, Seymour wondered, then what about winter? The blizzard had lasted for two days now, and it seemed far from ending… which was incredibly frustrating, because it meant that he was still stuck in this tiny, cold inn, with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company.
His father's people had found him precisely eleven days ago, much to their young captain's relief, the fiend hunters' surprise… and the boy's honest consternation. Truth to be told, he had never expected the man to look for him again, not after so many years. In fact, if his stay on Baaj had been any longer, he might have even forgotten his father completely. Mother had rarely spoken of him, anyway, and Seymour had never been allowed to read any letters from home. The Guado soldiers hadn't been very talkative, either, and it had seemed that the maester had entirely given up on his family.
Seymour sighed; everything was so confusing… Why would his father remember him now, of all times? What had made him change his mind? Well, apparently, a couple of months ago one of the few servants left on the island had sent Lord Jyscal a letter, informing him of his wife's journey to Zanarkand… so the man must have had at least some idea of what had been happening. Still, for some reason or other, he had not acted at once. In fact, Guadosalam wasn't located half as far from Zanarkand as Baaj was… and if the maester's servants had reached the Sacred City so late… then it could only mean that the man had hesitated for two or three months.
In this case, two months changed literally everything. The boy bit his lip, absently watching the snowflakes twirl outside. Considering empty 'what-ifs' was useless, he knew… and yet, and the same time, he couldn't help but wonder - what if the captain had arrived sooner? Would his mother still be alive, then?
Maybe.
Then again, maybe not.
Right.
No point in wondering.
He had other worries now – finally, he was going back home… whatever it meant. How long had it been, anyway? Four years? Four and a half? He couldn't quite remember, although he was fairly sure that he had left Guadosalam relatively soon after his sixth birthday… and now only two months separated him from his eleventh. He wondered if many things had changed during that time… did the trees still sing, sometimes? Would the forest still look so pretty after dark, with all those gentle lights hovering everywhere? Yes, he definitely wanted to see that again; the view from his bedroom window was one of the few things he had truly missed on Baaj.
Was going home such a good thing, then? The more he thought about it, the less certain he felt. After all, going home meant that he would have to confront his father… tell him about everything… yes, everything.
Seymour cringed, burying his face in his hands. The future seemed so awful now, so complicated…
If only she hadn't died…
Lord Jyscal's third letter was neat, short and straight to the point. Actually, it could have been summarized in only a couple of words – hurry, it said, or you will be in serious trouble, captain. Faris sighed, absently running a hand through his dark, thick hair. Their journey back prolonged, he knew, and it was mostly his fault… because, honestly speaking, sometimes it was okay to ignore orders. Especially orders that had very little to do with reality.
What did the maester know, anyway? His son had been traveling all over Spira… for what, ten months, now? First from that desert island, all the way to Zanarkand, then back again, through the chilly Gagazet Range, over the Calm Lands, to Bevelle… The boy obviously needed some rest; even though he hardly ever complained, Faris knew that he was exhausted, both physically, as well as mentally. It was easy to tell from his movements, apathetic gestures, the way he spoke…
The captain shook his head, slowly, methodically tearing Jyscal's letter to pieces. He wasn't risking too much, was he? After all, he had promised to take care of the lord's child… and, in this case, it meant that they would stay in this rented mansion – where Seymour could finally sleep in a real bed – for at least two weeks.
He was still cleaning the remaining pieces of paper from his desk, when one of his subordinates entered the room.
"Faris-taichou," the man said, bowing slightly. "You have a visitor."
"A visitor…?" Faris frowned. "Who, exactly?"
"Some human," the soldier replied in a slightly bored, dispassionate voice. "An old man, it seems… he wouldn't tell us his name, though, so I told him to wait downstairs."
"If he wouldn't even introduce himself," the captain shrugged, waving his hand in an irritated, dismissive gesture, "then he is hardly worth my time."
"Taichou," the soldier interrupted, "this man is most obviously a nobleman… and he asked for you by your full name."
Faris looked up, meeting the guard's calm gaze. "…I don't know any humans in this city," he finally said.
"So I have thought," the other man nodded. "Still, I think that maybe you should see him."
Indeed, the visitor was a nobleman, it showed quite clearly in the way he acted. In fact, if Faris hadn't known any better, he would have said that the stranger had made his way upstairs without bothering to wait for a formal invitation. Sighing almost unnoticeably, the Guado stood up from his chair to greet the man with a polite bow, but before he could actually say anything, the visitor was already by his desk, falling down into an empty seat.
"Captain Faris van Thyne," he began in a relatively polite, yet definitely not humble manner, looking around the room with the air of a man who was used to people listening to his every single word.
"Do I know you, sir…?" Faris asked, frowning. He was generally aware of the fact that most humans lacked proper manners, but still, this man was going a bit too far in his nonchalance.
"No, I don't think so," the visitor replied, "…but you must have heard my name at least once, captain."
"Well, then…?" he could swear he was only a step away from loosing his patience.
"Gwyan de C'renaville," the man finally said, leaning back in his chair.
Faris bristled, unable to suppress a pained, irritated sigh. "…Ah. I see. It is an honor to meet you, Lord C'renaville," he assured in a slightly strained voice. Yes, the man's surname definitely changed a couple of things… actually, it complicated a couple of things beyond measure.
"So I imagine," the man smirked, though his face quickly regained its previous, sober look. "Captain, I heard the news. I will ask you bluntly… what happened to my daughter?"
Suddenly, the young Guado found himself unconsciously backing away from his guest. "Well," he began after a long pause, "Avalon-dono has, um… passed away… in Zanarkand."
"I know that," the man said sharply. "I was asking about the details. How did it happen?"
Faris took a deep breath; even if this human acted so rude, he still deserved respect, simply by being Lord Jyscal's father-in-law… and, besides, it just wouldn't be fair to insult a man who had recently lost his only daughter.
"Nobody knows," he admitted, looking away in mild embarrassment.
Lord Gwyan was visibly upset, even in spite of his offensive attitude. "What do you mean by that?"
"It's just as I said, C'renaville-dono… Nobody knows. It was already too late when we reached Zanarkand. There were no survivors, except for the young master… and, naturally, he wasn't very talkative on the whole matter."
The man's aging face looked slightly paler than before, but he still appeared relatively clam and composed. "Did you find her body?"
Despite himself, Faris lowered his eyes to avoid the man's gaze. "No, we didn't… but it couldn't be helped… I am not sure, but it seems that the lady died somewhere in Northern Zanarkand. We didn't venture that far."
"'Seems', you say…" Gwyan's laughter was a low, humorless sound.
Faris bit his tongue, unable to form a satisfactory answer. After all, how could he possibly explain that he hadn't even started a search because of the boy's nearly hysterical – and then cold, defensive – behavior every time he had tried to bring that subject up?
As if able to read the captain's thoughts, the lord suddenly spoke. "…Her son?"
Faris hesitated. "His highness is all right… I guess."
"You guess…?" the man's gray eyebrows lowered slightly. "…All right, what's wrong with him? Formalities aside, please."
The young captain sighed heavily. "C'renaville-dono… seriously…"
"Talk," the lord commanded in a heavy, tired voice. "I have the right to know, do I really need to remind you?"
"Well…" Faris said after a long pause, "…he just won't talk to anyone, unless it is absolutely necessary… or eat too much, for that matter," he sighed. "It has been like this ever since we left Zanarkand… which was about two months ago," he added, after a brief consideration.
"…I see," the nobleman finally said. "I need to talk to him."
Faris shook his head almost instantly. "He does not wish to be bothered."
"He may be your lord," Gwyan's eyes were inscrutable, "…but he's still my grandson. Now, where can I find him?"
Seymour sat on a white garden bench, surrounded by a neatly mowed lawn and a couple of rosebushes. There was a small pointer in his lap – a very late birthday gift from Faris, who still acted as silly and overprotective as ever – currently trying to break free from his grasp, bored with the prolonging stillness. Lost in thought, the boy didn't pay much attention to the puppy's struggles; he had to name his present, after all, and he didn't want to let go of it before he decided on a beautiful, extraordinary name… because it was either this, or having to deal with the captain's annoying, overly hurt expression.
"Nice dog," somebody spoke behind his back. The accent definitely didn't belong to a Guado; Seymour whirled around in surprise, only to find himself staring into a pair of disturbingly familiar eyes. The puppy used this opportunity to flee from his hands, but the boy didn't even notice, unable to tear his gaze away from the sharp, wrinkled face… which looked a bit different from the one in his memories – tired, older, more troubled.
"You still remember me, don't you?" his grandfather asked, casually stepping in front of the bench.
"Gwyan-dono," Seymour breathed.
The man's lips broke into a tight, sour smile. "…You don't need to be so formal."
"I…" he was at a loss, struggling for words. "What are you doing here…" he trailed off, unsure of how to address the man.
"I live here," the voice sounded deadly serious, and Seymour could only guess that the man was joking. "We are in Bevelle, remember?"
"I mean… what are you doing here… Gwyan… dono?"
"In this garden?"
"Yes," he nodded, exasperated.
"Sitting," the man said smoothly, gracefully falling down onto the bench, right next to the scowling boy.
They were both quiet for a while – Gwyan looking up at the sunny sky, Seymour glaring at his grandfather in open frustration.
"…Leave me alone," he finally said.
"Don't be rude," came an instant reply.
"I am not. You are intruding."
"Boy," something in his grandfather's serious, meaningful voice made him fall silent at once; he impatiently waited for the man to continue as the pause prolonged. "So, you're finally going home… are you happy?"
Seymour turned his head away, immediately forgetting about the verbal match. He wasn't sure whether he could be honest with his grandfather, if it was okay to trust him – he had only known this man for a week, after all, and that had been about five years ago… still, even in spite of their quite unpleasant first meeting, it had been a rather nice week, so perhaps…
"I don't know," he finally mumbled. "…I guess so."
"Is that your final answer?" the man asked calmly. "Boy… either you are, or you aren't; it's as simple as that."
"I am," Seymour replied. "I'm just…"
"Scared?" the man finished for him, and the boy nodded. "Of what?"
"I don't know," he said, although it wasn't quite true. "I just am."
"I see…" Gwyan sighed, and the garden was once again silent. "…You still miss her, don't you?"
Seymour looked up with a startled gasp; a mere second later his eyes darted to the side, desperate to rest on anything but the man's solemn face.
Neither of them spoke for a very long while.
"Tell me. What happened."
It wasn't a question, not really. In fact, it sounded nearly like an invitation.
"…A fayth," Gwyan finally muttered, long after Seymour had finished his short, incomplete story.
"Yes," he whispered, unable to keep his shoulders from trembling.
"Hmph," the man leant forward. "…Figures."
Seymour was up on his feet in an instant, absolutely horrified. "How can you say that–!"
"Calm down, boy," the man replied harshly, without even looking up.
"Do you really–"
"Boy."
That tone again. Clenching his teeth in anger, Seymour fell down onto the bench. "What?" He didn't care if he was being rude. The man obviously deserved it.
"Well, Avalon…" Gwyan's voice was low, it seemed nearly exhausted. "She always used to be reckless. And stubborn… yes, very stubborn," the man chuckled humorlessly. "I am… truly shocked with her decision… but… not nearly as much as I should be."
"I…" the boy's grip on the edge of his seat had turned his knuckles completely white. "She could have…"
"Seymour," his grandfather looked up, at last. "Didn't you just say that she was incurably ill? Do you blame yourself for her death?"
"…For her choice, yes."
"Well, you shouldn't. There was probably very little you could do."
"But… she could have lived longer," he muttered. "She would have lived longer if we hadn't gone to Zanarkand."
"'Longer' does not always mean 'better'," the man flexed his thin, sinewy fingers. "She has… condemned herself to eternity, but at the same time, her death has not been meaningless."
"That doesn't change the fact that she's not here."
"No, she is not…" the lord admitted, once again falling silent."…Seymour." Reluctantly, the boy met his grandfather's stern gaze. "I have talked to captain Faris. He is worried about you."
"He is worried because I'm his responsibility," the last word was punctuated by an annoyed grimace. "He has orders from my father."
"Then perhaps your father is also worried about you," the man replied smoothly and, strangely enough, just this once there were no malicious tones in his voice when he spoke about Jyscal. Unable to reply to this reasoning at once, the boy frowned, wordlessly contemplating the thought. "Don't be such a child, Seymour. If you continue to drown in apathy, you will never get better."
"Who says I want to get better?" lavender eyes narrowed in defiance.
"Move on, boy," Gwyan sighed, bending down to pick up the puppy, which had once again found its way to the boy's feet. "There's nothing else you can do. Find yourself some purpose in life…" he paused. "You do realize that you will become a maester someday, don't you?" Seymour gave him a startled, incredulous look. "She would have wanted it… I'm sure of it."
There was another long pause, interrupted only by the dog's loud sniffing and – what a coincidence – the sound of the Temple bells ringing somewhere in the distance.
"You're awfully calm about all this, Gwyan-dono," the boy finally murmured. "…Didn't you love her?"
"True, I loved her… but I learned to live without her a long, long time ago," the man's expression was dark, inscrutable. "She died to me… the moment she married your father."
Days went on fast after that, perhaps even too fast. They were heading for the Moonflow now, because Faris had decided not to cross the Thunder Plains, opting for a different, longer, yet definitely much safer route instead. Seymour didn't mind; he wasn't in a hurry, not really. He still had his doubts about going home, doubts that grew bigger with every passing day, even though he was doing his best to ignore them.
Unfortunately, the long, monotonous journey gave him a lot of time to think, regardless of whether he wanted it, or not. He generally tried to avoid dwelling on the past, although it was a bit hard, sometimes, as he was constantly visiting familiar places; places he had once seen with her. And, unable to occupy himself with the present, he was left pondering on his own future, mostly. Every so often, he found himself remembering his grandfather's words… find some purpose in life, the man had said. In had been a good advice, he suspected, yet it didn't make things any less complicated. He couldn't find a satisfactory answer, no matter how hard he tried.
It seemed that life would never make much sense again.
"My lord?" Faris asked quietly. "Is something the matter?"
With his back still turned on the man, Seymour frowned and shook his head. "…It's nothing."
"Shall we go, then?"
The boy didn't reply at once, and when he did, his voice sounded almost hesitant. "No… just a little longer."
They stood at the edge of a tall, picturesque cliff, which overlooked a large, wooded valley – early autumn winds had already turned all trees into a sea of red, orange and yellow, and the sight was nothing short of breathtaking. However, Seymour hadn't chosen to stop here simply because he had liked the view so much.
"I am sure that Jyscal-roushi will be glad to see you, Shimoa-sama," Faris said softly, earning himself nothing but a small, indifferent shrug from the boy.
"If you say so…"
The captain lowered his eyes. There was no point in trying to convince the child, because, in all honesty, he could not be too sure about the maester's reaction himself. However, during the past eighteen weeks he had grown rather attached to the sad, quiet boy, and it pained him to see his troubled, uneasy expression. It seemed that… the closer they were to Guadosalam, the more distant the young lord became. Faris hated it; if spite of his profession, he had a soft spot for children, and he couldn't stand things as they were. He needed to do something… preferably now.
Well, there was no harm in trying. "Shimoa-sama..." he began firmly, straightening himself up, "…what would you say about a race?" Now, that certainly got everyone's attention. "Your highness?" Faris repeated, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
"What… what are you talking about?" Seymour blinked. After a couple of months spent in the officer's company, he was rather well used to his semi-formal attitude and slightly… unconventional ideas, yet there were still times when the man's behavior came as utterly surprising.
Ignoring some meaningful coughs from his subordinates, the captain pointed at a random tree in the valley. "Can you see that, my lord? The large, red one at the end of that clearing?" Seymour nodded slightly. "Well, it's not too far, is it?"
"Um… sure…"
"And of course you are not afraid of heights, right? Or of speed, for that matter?"
"Faris-san…" Seymour's dumbfounded expression changed into an angry, offended glare.
"Captain, I don't think it's a good–" one of the guards began, but he was quickly silenced by a wave of Faris' hand.
"Be quiet, you," the man hissed. "Now, my lord… are you ready?" The boy gave him an irritated look, and the captain smiled sweetly. "So I have thought… Go!" he shouted, taking off almost instantly.
"Wait, Shimoa-sama–! What if something–" his escorts started to yell… but Seymour couldn't hear them anymore.
Faris' challenge had soon turned out to be very difficult… and scary. The forest was thick, dark, filled with fallen trunks, protruding roots and low-hanging branches… not to mention the fact that the unbelievably steep slope didn't make things any easier. At first, Seymour felt like giving up the second he started – beating the infuriating man was not worth breaking his own neck, after all – but then, after a brief consideration, he realized that he would do everything to win… or at least he would prove that he was not a coward.
In fact, he was slowly catching up with the Guado, and it made him all the more determined to reach the damn clearing faster. When he was just about to race past the captain, however, the man suddenly jumped to the side, disappearing somewhere among the trees a couple of seconds later. Seymour had no other choice but to ride straight ahead, because it still seemed to be the shortest route to the tree.
In less than five minutes, though, Faris was back on the trial, materializing at least thirty meters ahead of the boy. Seymour couldn't suppress a loud, disappointed cry.
Turning his head, yet not slowing down a bit, Faris started to laugh. "I used to grow up here, my lord! I know many shortcuts through the forest!" he paused abruptly, throwing himself down at his chocobo's back, just in time to avoid a nasty, violent encounter with a thick, low branch.
"That's not fair!" the boy shouted back.
"Not fair? Most things are never fair, your highness!"
"That's… cheating!"
"No, it is not!" there was a mischievous glint in Faris' eyes. "Your chocobo is faster… besides, you are much lighter! I needed to make sure our chances were even!"
Meanwhile, the forest had thinned considerably; a few moments later, the two riders finally burst into the tiny meadow. Seymour involuntarily clenched his teeth in anticipation, their goal was already in plain sight… And they weren't racing anymore. They were flying.
He eventually came to a halt under the red canopy, still panting heavily from all the excitement, suddenly realizing how close he had been to actually dying on that uneven slope. Much to his own surprise, he had won the race – though by a pathetically small margin – and it made him feel very, very satisfied… mostly because the man hadn't simply let him win. They had been both fighting for real.
"What's the matter, my lord?" Faris chuckled, catching up with boy a few seconds later. "You look as if you were the one doing all the running," he smirked, turning to see whether any of his men had already reached the clearing. He saw no one, of course, as they were probably still making their way through the thick forest, at a more reasonable pace.
Seymour found himself returning the smirk – as well as the insult – rather quickly. "Has it ever occurred to you, Faris, that you may be crazy?"
"I am happy to see you in a much better mood, my lord. Anyway, please, have a look around…" the captain's voice sounded quite strange: half-urgent, half-expectant.
The boy blinked and did as he was told, finally paying some attention to his surroundings. All right, he thought, there was this clearing, lots of red trees, some colorful water… He frowned and rode a bit closer, eyes instantly widening at the sight. It was not just some river. It was the Moonflow – not the main arm, of course, just one of its smaller tributaries. Still, it could only mean one thing…
"It's…" Seymour started, unsure of what to say.
"Yes, my lord," Faris stopped by his side, lips curled into a gentle smile. "…Welcome home."
End of Part Three
Coming up next - Part Four: Heritage
Author's Notes:
1) Do you know howhard it was for me not to write a sweet 'okaeri-nasai'/'tadaima' at the end of this chapter…? -scowls- If you, by any chance, know what I'm talking about, then tell me, please, how were these lines translated in FFX-2…? Oh, you know, when /they/ are standing in the water and embracing each other…? (…I hope this doesn't count as a spoiler.) Well, I don't know, because I've only seen this scene in some AMVs with Japanese subtitles…
2) I'm sorry about the race. I really am… but I needed to take a happy Seymour home… without him actually noticing it. I know it's absurd… totally out of place… not in character… but then again, the boy's only eleven, why can't he have some fun once in a while…? -pauses- Look, I told you I was sorry!
3) One word about how utterly stupid Faris is, and I'll go hang myself. Seriously. You don't have to remind me. -crawls under a rock and dies-
4) Well, filler chapters generally are bad, so let's just move on to some better stuff, namely the last part of this story. Seymour will finally see his father for the first time in five years… as well as regain his Zanarkand memories. If you're thinking: 'little Seymour plus Jyscal plus Yunalesca means…damn, angst again!', then you are, unfortunately, quite right. Anyway, it'll be an interesting chapter… I think. :)
5) I can only improve with the help of your reviews – please, click the blue button… Pretty please?