Une Fleuraison Constante
(A Constant Blossoming)
By Tenshi no Ai
All French translations by Hawk of Death
(C) Square Enix
Chapter Thirteen: Sweet Chance
The cabernet sauvignon grape of rainy northern Valendia was the primary ingredient of the wine; imported from the cellars of Leà Monde, it was a beautifully dark vintage. It was not a varietal, a wine made chiefly from one type of grape, but rather a highly sophisticated blend that included merlot to lessen the puckerish tannic and a surprising amount of zinfandel to darken the color and leave the barest hint of berry playfully dancing along the overall richness of the cabernet sauvignon. This created a piquant yet full-bodied wine with a soothing bouquet and a slightly rough finish; it had not aged long enough for all of the coarseness to seep away from the aftertaste. But, it was in this lingering sharpness that the full character of the wine could be observed. The complex blend could never hide the bitter quality of the very noble main grape.
It was a blend suited for Dycedarg Beoulve.
He savored a mouthful of it now, letting it flow down his throat with drawn out swallows that bordered on reverent. The aftertaste rose, sharp and acidic, biting delightfully along his tongue and the insides of his mouth. What a wonderful blend, lively even after the drink fled. It softened his countenance slightly, reddening the fair skin that all the Beoulve siblings possessed. It even made it easier to accept the unexpected setbacks that his political career had been sparsely dotted with. He did not take well to failures of any kind, particularly his own, and so the drink was needed to maintain the precious control he so valued.
Just as his hand reached for the glass of wine, a knock sounded on his office door. There was only a narrowing of dark brown eyes before Dycedarg aborted the move and instead rested his chin on his hand. "Come in, my lord," he called. It was no mere assumption; Duke Larg was the only person who would dare drop by at lunchtime to talk business.
The door opened and the duke shuffled in, looking as stressed and despondent as he had two weeks before, when that impertinent Shrine Knight came to steal the princess away. Dycedarg stroked the end of his beard, the only sign of annoyance he ever showed around the man who was his lord. "Dycedarg," Bestrada Larg started in that wheedly tone that grated on the eldest Beoulve's nerves, "how long will it be until we are able to retrieve Ovelia?"
Dycedarg smiled thinly. "Soon enough, my lord." For two weeks he had been forced to answer that question on a daily basis. His lord was a fool, and in his experience he knew full well how easy it was to ward off the curiosity of fools with simple answers, so as to not harm their meager faculties too much.
That would come later.
Today, the duke seemed to see right through the answer. "That is what you have been saying. I trust you, of course." Of course, Dycedarg thought, you have not the mind to do anything else. "I am just worried as to Murond's reasons for wanting to take her in at that crucial time."
Worrying, always worrying. That was another thing that annoyed the Rune Knight. Listening to other people's little worries, having to repeat himself, and having his noontime drink interrupted. "Yes, of course. That would be understandable," he responded, trying to sound as sincere as possible.
"Well? Do you think that Murond can be trusted? Would they be more affiliated with us, or with Zeltennia?" Larg pestered. The tiniest crack was beginning to show on Dycedarg's diffident facade.
"Murond is not affiliated with anyone but God," Dycedarg answered in the tone he reserved for people who needed to be led slowly through explanations, like Zalbag or the duke. Larg did not notice the change in inflection now, having been exposed to it so often. "Murond only needs to care about themselves. They have little to do with the true halls of the castle. They have no political aspirations." This last statement was a lie, he was sure of it, but to reveal anything on that front would just lead to more irritating questions.
"As you say," Larg said doubtfully. "But if I may be so bold Dycedarg, it seems that lately your word has not been up to the standard I would expect from you. First there was the whole debacle with the Death Knights failing to do away with Ovelia, and you were even forced to capitulate to that Pillar of Knowledge on their bluff..."
"It was not a bluff," Dycedarg rebutted in a very polite tone, his jaw stiff. His drink interrupted, having to repeat himself, having to hear insipid worries, and now being doubted, as well as having to be reminded about his own failure regarding that Murond dog. There was another crack in the formerly seamless facade. "I did ask why, if they wanted to take Ovelia, did they not offer the same to Alma - "
-Well, I would not say that the Beoulve family is less than the royal bloodline. Certainly we will take the Lady Alma Beoulve. But, as I recall, she is off playing the princess at the present moment. So please, as soon as she is able, you will inform us, will you not?-
" - and Sir Wodring agreed, if you can remember. Today, Zalbag is taking her over there for her own studies. They were being sincere about their offer to Ovelia."
"Oh, I see. Forgive my hastiness in doubting your word," the duke said, clearly chastened.
Words of apology from a moron are not worth much, Dycedarg scoffed, mistakes to a fool are like weeds to a garden. "I humbly thank you for your graciousness," he mumbled in return, affecting a sort of contrite behavior at being the one to make his lord deign to offer an apology.
"Well then, in that case, my fears are alleviated. Continue to see what you can do about bringing Ovelia back as soon as possible. I would feel much more comfortable once that obstacle is eliminated," Bestrada ordered. "Of course, you still have the, uh, potion?"
"Yes, of course, my lord." If I only could put it in your drink, my lord.
"Good, good. Well then, I shall leave you to your..." The duke eyed the innocuous glass of wine on the desk. "Wine. Drinking your lunch, my friend? Should I be worried?" He smiled, not waiting for a reply before he left the office.
The bland light in Dycedarg's eyes shifted to something more cold, venom in a glance. He looked at his wine glass, the dark liquid almost beckoning him to quaff down the rest of the rich, bittersweet wine. Steadily, he reached for the glass and took a sip, determined to take in the wine the way it was meant to be enjoyed.
Now that he thought about it, he wouldn't dare waste his precious poisons on an imbecile like his lord. A dagger sounded much nicer, much more fitting. He disliked getting his hands dirty with such an overt action, but after the daily annoyances he had to put up with in serving the leader of Gallionne, he felt he deserved the satisfaction.
And then he would never have to bow to another man. For once, the Beoulve family would get what they deserved. Ivalice was within his grasp.
It was just a matter of time.
-0-
"So, they took our bluff."
Rofel grinned and waved away the smoke floating towards him. "It would appear so, though it does not seem to be on purpose."
"...Oh?" Vormav's tone was dry. "Are you to tell me that Dycedarg is sending his sister here on accident?"
Shaking his head, Rofel moved so that he would no longer be downwind of the smoke expelled from his commander's cigarette. He chose to lean against a corner of the turret they were currently at the top of before he smiled. "First of all, it was Zalbag who contacted me about sending their sister here, and he told me that it was her idea."
There was no expression on the older man's face as he absorbed this information. "Since when did noblewomen think for themselves?"
"Apparently, the girl is traumatized after losing her brother and her friends, the wards of the Beoulves. Even so, Zalbag claims that she is a willful child," Rofel answered, even though he was sure that was a rhetorical question. He thought over his second sentence and hastened to translate that so it would sound better for the Beoulve girl's sake. "Willful as in energetic, not that she is spoiled."
Vormav placed one end of the small tube at his lips, but did not inhale. There was a frown that gave rise to a number of wrinkles on his brow. "It has nothing to do with me. What do you want?"
The Pillar of Knowledge hid his second grin. The two men were good friends, but Rofel knew that he was straining his leader's tolerance the longer he stayed. Vormav did not take lightly to interruptions while enjoying a smoke. "I would like to borrow your son."
"Take him. Keep him. I do not care."
"Vormav, that is your own..." Rofel started, then paused. This was an old argument that would quickly go nowhere, and today he did not wish to repeat it. "Rather, I would like to give the boy a chance to prove his worth, once and for all."
There was an exhale of smoke before the Shrine Knight commander asked, "And what sort of feat would you have him do?"
"I would like him to be the Lady Alma's bodyguard for the duration of her stay."
"Hn." The end of the cigarette was crushed into the turret, leaving a dark smear. "And how would that prove anything?"
"The girl is willful." Much like yourself, Rofel did not add. "This will teach your son how to deal with those that would actively fight him in more subtle ways than by use of the sword. He is a Shrine Knight of Murond, and it is time that he had duties that reflected that status."
Sporting a droll look on his face, Vormav turned to face Rofel for the first time of the impromptu meeting. "I see. Then, I suppose you should find him. But perhaps you should give him some time."
"Why do you say that?" He couldn't help it; Rofel simply couldn't keep the smile off of his face.
Standing between determination and indecision, Vormav glanced at Rofel then turned away, disgust wrinkling his whole face. "I suppose you would already know," he said gruffly as he headed for the stairs, "that today is Izlude's birthday. His mother would have appreciated that he had some rest on this day, if no other."
"What a kind father you are."
"Hn."
-0-
"Ahh...Vivienne, this is a nice day, is it not?"
"Ku-po."
"Such a nice breeze. Let us see, I completed a thousand sword swings before breakfast. After all, even though I am a knight now, I cannot slack off on my training, right?"
"Kupopo."
"That is what I thought. I think I am getting better. I mean, I have learned to concentrate my swings so that they will always hit my enemy...no, opponent. I could never call a fellow Ivalician an enemy; after all, we would both wish the best for our shared land, right?"
"Kupopo."
"Thank you. I just want to serve Ivalice, and the Order as well. Though, it appears I will not be able to do it as a Divine Knight in quite the while. Melia was a Divine Knight at twenty, but I cannot compare with her."
"...Kupo?"
"No, it is nothing. I will just try harder. That is all I can do, right?"
"Kupo!"
Izlude Tingel smiled as he sat underneath an apple tree nearby the Murond stables. Reaching up with one bare hand, he patted the small moogle that was perched atop his head, grinning as it cooed and kupo'ed in contentment. "Thank you for listening like always. Say, could you fly up there and grab an apple?" The mystical creature jumped immediately, hovering above Izlude for a moment before it began its journey to the lower branches of the tall tree. Ever since he had found her - and she had to be a female, considering that she had pouted when he had given her a male name - the moogle had been a constant companion. Izlude had found her adoration strange at first, but now he accepted it wholeheartedly.
It had been the a couple months ago, at the start of spring, when Izlude had made his quarterly trip to the castle's graveyard. His sister had been unable to go with him like they had planned, so he went by himself to give his respects to his mother. Afterward, he had decided to roam the fields, walking alongside his chocobo and taking in the cool breeze as it skirted over his bare face. That was when he had noticed in the distance a small white creature lying still on the dirt. He had run to it and administered healing through one of the potions he always carried with him when he traveled. The moogle had awoken, flapped her dusky purple wings, and proceeded to hover around him as he tried to cajole her into going back to wherever she had come from. But she never had, and by now he would admit that he would miss her if she decided to leave.
An apple fell on his head. He rubbed the sore spot while muttering, "I already know about gravity." Vivienne came floating down a moment later, landing on his shoulder and kupo'ing worriedly as she touched the side of his head with her small paws. "Do not worry so, Vivi," he said, smiling to alleviate her concern, "I still live." His hands reaching down onto the grass beside him, he retrieved the apple. After cleaning it off with the end of his dark brown tunic, he reached for the dagger all knights carried at their sides, the silver gleaming in the sunlight as he sliced off a small piece of apple. "Here you are," he announced as he handed the slice to the moogle, who took it and began to nibble on its edges. Izlude balanced the dagger on his thigh before he sank his teeth into the round, red fruit.
Two large bites later, and Izlude noticed a figure approaching from the castle. Being far-sighted, it was as clear as daylight to him who the person with the long green dress and golden gauntlets was, and he smiled. He raised one hand in greeting and saw his sister beam in response. With the length of her Glabados sisterhood gown, it looked like she was daintily skimming just above the field, but Izlude knew that she was probably wearing the heaviest boots and greaves underneath that ultimate sign for femininity. His sister, the enigma.
"Hello, Izlude," she said as she reached him.
Izlude smiled broadly at the fuzzy image of his elder sister. He was fairly certain she was smiling back. "Melia, what are you doing out here?" She was often busy with her many duties as both a knight and a woman of the sisterhood, and the only time she really spent with him these days was for training. Despite this, he still felt close to her, the sister who had raised him after their mother died.
"What am I doing out here?" she asked, her tone that of surprise. Gathering the heavy skirts of her dress, she sat down with a huff, then pulled down the hood of the surcoat she habitually wore over her dress, exposing her short hair. "I came to wish you happy birthday, of course!"
The smile dropped from Izlude's face, only to be replaced by a sheepish expression. "Oh, right." Ah, so that explains all those white mages at morning practice, he realized.
As if she was reading his mind, Meliadoul grinned. "I hear the white mages have a surprise for you."
"They are not cooking again, are they?"
"I would hope not. I think I gained two stone's worth of weight from all those pastries. Have you ever considered how hard it is to swing a sword if your stomach is in the way?"
Izlude smiled and looked away. "Even if you were a sphere with arms and legs, the name 'Meliadoul Tingel' would still be an example to all incoming knights for true sword skill," he said, his smile turning wistful, "and you know it."
"They rate me too highly for their own good," she sighed. "I could never become like Dad, no matter how much everyone expects it of me."
Better than me, at any rate, Izlude thought. He knew it was better to keep such thoughts to himself, lest he incur the wrath of his sister. She never seemed to understand that there was a disparity between them, and always insisted that one day he would become a great Divine Knight. But, the title matters not...at least, that is what I think.
He wasn't sure if he truly believed that, or only convinced himself in a vain attempt to keep the growling beast of jealously at bay.
"I was thinking that we should enjoy ourselves today," he heard Meliadoul change the subject, and he was glad for it. "It really is a great day. For just a little while, I would like to not have to think about Murond or duties."
A small frown appeared on the younger sibling's face. He turned to face his sister and asked, "Is something wrong? That is not like you." Belatedly, he noticed that Vivienne was no longer on his shoulder, and he wondered when she had left.
"Is that so?" Meliadoul looked doubtful. "Well, to tell the truth - " An apple fell on her lap, surprising her out of her sentence. Picking up the fruit with both hands, she admired it for a moment before she glanced up. "Oh, hello there, Vivi."
Izlude felt the familiar weight of the moogle as she landed atop his right shoulder, right before she slid down his chest and landed onto his lap. He scratched her behind her ears, doing his best to avoid the very sensitive antenna and red pompom. "Good girl," he murmured before picking up his dagger and slicing off another piece of apple for the creature. She chirped cheerfully as she received it, and the young man could only smile. His sister was spending time with him in a way that didn't include her beating him down with sharp implements, Vivienne was as cute as ever, and the day was nothing short of enjoyable. Oh, and his apple was delicious. Nothing could spoil this moment.
A while later, with the apple cores discarded off to the side and Vivienne having dozed off, Meliadoul turned to Izlude and smiled. Immediately, there was a heavy feeling deep in his stomach as he caught sight of the blur of her lips curving in that oh-so-sly manner. With trepidation slithering over him, he tried to smile back. "What is it?"
"By the way, I was asked to find you and let you know that you are to be given a duty of great importance." Meliadoul turned away and shrugged, continuing with, "I believe everyone is waiting at the second floor Murond-Gallionne hallway."
"...Everyone?" he whispered, his brows creasing. He wasn't sure if his sister was playing a cruel trick on him or not. This wasn't her usual style though, and that worried him. "Who do you mean when you say 'everyone'?"
"Well, you know. Sir Rofel, Dad, two of the Beou - "
"Father?" Eyes wide with surprise, he sprang up from his seat, the action causing Vivienne to fall onto the ground with an indignant squeak. Scooping up the moogle in his arms, Izlude glared at his sister. "And only now you tell me?"
Meliadoul looked up at him so calmly, yet he felt as if he was going to burst. How could she do this to him? She could be the most irresponsible knight around, and everyone would still love and respect her. Their father would...but it wasn't the same for him! He was tip-toeing on eggshells while she pranced about wherever she pleased.
He wasn't jealous, no. He just understood.
Standing up, his sister stretched out the kinks in her back while he glared at her balefully. Then she reached out and touched his arm, and he glared at the offending object. Harsh words were never something he liked to indulge in, but he had a very expressive face. "Izlude, I was told that the message could wait." She smiled reassuringly, but blurs had never impressed him very much. "Dad told me himself."
"Father would never say anything like that outright," Izlude challenged.
"He told me, 'It figures the boy's birthday would look so peaceful. It is the sort of day anyone would enjoy,' and he was being very gruff about it but Dad has always been easy to read." She dropped her hand and tilted her head, and he couldn't help but feel bad. "Dad always has our best intentions in mind. You can trust your big sis Melia on that."
Sheepishly, he looked away. "Right, I apologize for doubting you. Still, is it not rude to let visitors wait? Who are they, again?"
"Two of the Beoulve siblings, the Hokuten Holy Knight and the girl." They began to walk towards the castle, albeit at a leisurely pace. "I heard that you will be the girl's bodyguard."
"Is she really that important to need a guard?"
"Oh, you know. She probably cannot protect herself, so we have to do that for her. And, it is a courtesy since Gallionne is pretty powerful these days."
"I see...so then, full armor and sword?"
"Strap on the spear too, it will make you look like someone ready for any situation. Let us show them that the Shrine Knights are just as imposing as the Hokuten!"
Izlude grinned, inspired by Meliadoul's announcement. It was true, he was one of the Shrine Knights, the best and most well-rounded faction in all of Ivalice. He was a Tingel, by God, and he could succeed at any task put before him. Though he was not very important now, he would keep trying his hardest; after all, even the castle was not built in a day.
Father had always had his best intentions in mind; he would not shirk from those expectations now!
-0-
Ovelia sat on her bed and thumbed through the tome resting on her lap. It was for her lessons while she stayed in Murond, and she accepted this as she had accepted every other event in her life: gracefully and without a fight. Why would she fight? It was her destiny to forever be shuffled around from place to place; even those who moved from village to village to escape the specter of poverty were not as transient as she. Her bodyguard Agrias stood next to the door, as was her wont. Neither woman had said anything since the dawn broke, save for Ovelia's request that the lady knight help with her hair. But, that was a ritual with them. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened, and if all was right with God, nothing would happen.
Numbly, the princess turned the page.
A knock on the door interrupted this picture of perfect stillness, startling the both of them. Agrias turned to face the door, one hand on the doorknob, the other on the hilt of her sword. "Who goes there?" she demanded.
"A message from Sir Rofel Wodring, the Pillar of Knowledge!" a male voice properly snapped back. With a hard jerk the lady knight opened the door, and from her vantage point the princess could see that the messenger was a young man in the regulation gold armor of the Shrine Knights. A gray surcoat covered much of his chest - the only thing that wasn't blocked by Agrias' frame - and his dark brown hair was left uncovered. Ovelia couldn't help but think that the knight that visited them was much messier compared to the austere and proper Sir Wodring.
"State your business," Agrias said, and Ovelia could hear the annoyance threading those few words. Her bodyguard had always been a creature of habit and an interruption like this was unforgivable.
The young man glanced at her direction - his eyes are the same green as the darkest foliage, the princess could not help but notice - before he returned his attention to the woman in front of him. "Sir Wodring would like to inform our princess that the Lady Beoulve has entered Murond for magical studies. He understands that our princess and Lady Beoulve are well acquainted from their time at Orbonne, and if our princess should ever feel lonely she - "
"The princess is never lonely," the Holy Knight answered with a preciseness as sharp as shattered glass, "for she has all of Ivalice to consider at any time."
"...Of course. My apologies for assuming that our princess might feel the same as us lowly plebeians," the knight with the gray surcoat snarled back.
Agrias' shoulders stiffened in indignation. "How dare you! What is your name and rank? I will have you reported for your gross misconduct towards the princess!"
Ovelia stood, feeling as if she had no choice. "Agrias, please stand down." The lady knight did so, kneeling stiffly as the princess approached the door. "Sir Knight, I would ask you a question."
The young man knelt, his head bowed. "The will of the princess is my will." His answer was simple, yet it flowed nicely, and Ovelia immediately realized that this Shrine Knight happened to be a man of high birth. Young nobles tended not to fluff their words with the heavy hand of the sycophant; the age of the aristocrat was inversely related to the level of pride they held for themselves.
"I thank you. You have reported that Lady Beoulve has entered Murond. Is anyone else accompanying her?"
"Her brother, the Holy Knight of the Hokuten, had accompanied the Lady Beoulve, my princess."
Brushing down the front of her gown, Ovelia could not help but frown. Something about this seemed wrong. "No others?"
"None, my princess."
"I see. Thank you for your assistance," she answered in a tone clearly meant for dismissal. It made her wince to use such a voice, but the Shrine Knight understood its meaning and left. Agrias stood to close the door while Ovelia turned away and headed for her bed. How strange, she mused, I would think that Teta would be with Alma.
"Is something wrong, Princess?" she heard her loyal guard ask, but she didn't feel like sharing her thoughts. She shook her head, knowing that the action would stem further questioning. Agrias was a good knight in that way. Instead of opening up to the only person she really knew, Ovelia picked up her book and stared at the page she had left off, but all she could see were vast, rippling fields of green in her mind's eye.
How nice it would be to once again be free from these fortresses of stone, she thought as she gazed into her window of fantasy, to journey across Ivalice with such varied companions like that time before. To be a part of something exciting...something special. How can I be called a princess of Ivalice if I cannot experience the myriad wonders of my birth land?
Is there anyone who can bring me to those wonderful fields again?
-End to Chapter Thirteen-
I'm sorry about the lateness of this chapter, but I'm just seriously burnt out when it comes to this series. I'm still interested in it, but I don't want to write this only out of obligation. It was painfully hard to write about Izlude. Izlude! Anyone and everyone's written something about adorable Izzy because he's that damn easy to write about. It's definitely time for a change of pace when Dycedarg's easier to write. Next chapter will be up 4/19, but I'll try to make Penitentes a weekly serial in its stead.
Notes:
God only knows if that grape blend actually produces a wine of that flavor; wine's not my alcohol of choice.
In the Japanese FFT, Izlude always refers to Vormav as 'chichiue', which is a very formal term literally meaning 'father above (me)'. It's not uncommon in the game; Dycedarg and Zalbag use that term too. However, Meliadoul always calls Vormav 'tousan', which is a lot more casual...almost too much for the era pictured in FFT.
Reviewers!
Hello,
Trueborn Chaos! I'm the same way when it comes to overdoing it when
talking, so I don't talk very often. I really like
listening to other people, so it all works out.
I totally agree with you about Kefka; he made me want to hate him, even
though he had a couple great one-liners ("You all sound like chapters
from a self-help booklet!").
Hm, thanks for your opinion on BoF IV!
Hey, spring is awesome, don't disrespect. Love to see more sunny days,
especially after the deluge I've been experiencing here lately.
How will the Shrine Knights fit in the grand scheme of things? Rather nicely, actually.
If
a TobyKikami went by no name at all, would her reviews read the same?
Yep, though I appreciate all the clarifications you made.
After two game discs, three different saves and two years, I can say
that BoF III is quite the mediocre game. Fishing is great, and I really
like the breaking away from the 'we have to save the world from the
great evil!' cliché, so in those respects the game's actually kinda
good. But I will pick up BoF IV, and I'll see for myself how this
'Fou-Lu' dude is in the villain department.
The best thing about writing an AU that sorta-kinda parallels the game
is employing all sorts of dramatic irony that doesn't include my
sarcastic wit.
Heh,
that's a nice review Evil Mina. I've had longer, but I'm still kinda
impressed. And let's ignore that innuendo and get on with the reply!
Having two fic series up at once at the expense of my life usually doesn't bother me because I can't not write.
Thanks for the compliments, especially regarding the new, improved
Vormav with 50 percent more dry wit! Really, though, since I go by the
belief that in-game Vormav is always Hashmalum, who's to say what the
real Vormav's personality was like? Zalbag though...he doesn't have an
excuse. I just like writing the adults more.
I think what made FFT's villains work was that they were so human that
it was actually easier to hate them sometimes. I've known people like
Algus all my life, people who will put you down because they were
raised to believe that a certain race or socioeconomic status is lower
than them. At the same time, I've seen people twist their beliefs based
on how the world perceives them, so I can extend some empathy towards
Wiegraf...but I can't respect that or him. FFT is a good game in that
respect; in many other games put out these days, I feel like it's more
of 'manufactured sympathy', that I'm forced to sympathize with complete angst-fests just because they're so tortured. Does that make sense?
As far as Teta and her sacrifice goes, I think that you're being
practical in what you think. That's not insensitive in the least. Sometimes I'm moved by characters sacrificing themselves; Reis
is one of my favorite characters from any game, and a lot of that has
to do with just the written description of her jumping in and taking
the curse meant for Beowulf. That impresses me. In Teta's case, she's
unfortunately the perfect victim. I just wanted to have her death mean
more than just 'Delita's catalyst'.
Heh, I guess I rambled on too. Oh, and please don't make a second
review apologizing for the first. It's pointless, bloats up my review
count, and is a pet peeve of mine (right up there with authors
reviewing their own work to respond to their reviewers).
Hey, ...11! Glad you're still enjoying this story. I'm still learning how to write effective twists and turns, but I'll continue to try and not disappoint!
