Author's Note: 'Manna' is an affectionate term. It means 'precious beyond measure'.
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The problem with the Labyrinth was that nothing was certain. No one thing! And true to form, a certain echoing whisper slipped through the Castle just as Toby got halfway down the Goblin King's neck.
Jareth groaned and fell back to the bed, hands falling away from the back of the mortal's head in defeat.
Toby sighed and sat up, looking to the window. "Should I wait up for you?" he asked.
Jareth shrugged as he got out of bed. "That depends on how annoying this one is," he muttered, "Bloody humans! Always bloody interrupting."
Toby kindly didn't get insulted. "Then I should go back to my room. Will you be alright?"
"Yes." Jareth was definitely sulking. The wine was sloshing pliantly in his blood and he had been thinking of something nice and slow and very sweet- just to see how Toby looked while he did it- and now he was stuck with a challenger.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes!"
"No need to shout."
"I was not shouting," Jareth said slowly, "I was only raising my voice."
He fumbled hurriedly through his wardrobe, yanking out a black cape. The usual- sparkling, brash and a little peculiar. He generally used many variations of the same outfit for the first time. Just so he could cow the wisher into accepting their new fate. It worked most of the time. But sometimes… well, Sarah had not fallen for it, and Sarah might have been the love of his life but she was nothing special in the human world. He fixed it on and tried to settle the folds properly while dragging a brush through his hair with his left hand.
Toby pulled on his shirt and breeches and gathered up the rest of his belongings. "I shall see you in the morning," he said awkwardly.
"With luck," Jareth added, "Only with luck." He strode to the door, patting Toby's shoulder absently on the way. "Sleep well."
Toby raised an eyebrow. But Jareth was gone. One foot out of the door and he had turned shape and flown out into the corridor. Toby often wondered why most wishes were made at night. He supposed humans got sleepy and less able to handle stressful situations. So they wished them away in spite. Most didn't mean it, but that was the way things went.
He slipped out, watchful in case someone else chose the moment to wander down the hallway. His room was still only three doors down, and so he was safely inside before the footsteps even began to ascend the stairs. He was already changed and in bed when Gildred walked his fiancée to her room.
"Will you be alright?" he asked anxiously.
"I am only going to sleep," she laughed softly, "Hardly a dangerous experience."
"Luka," he said tellingly, "Is still on the loose. I thought he was a spoilt little fae whose most serious thought was whether his clothing was right for the dance he was attending! How is it that he can escape Jareth, myself and my tracker?"
Jervohl didn't answer.
Gildred noticed because he pulled away from those moody thoughts and tossed another worried look at her profile. "I worry for you," he murmured, tightening his hold on her fingers.
"Madigh is dead, Gildred. Unless you think I am not able to…"
"I never said that. But you are not invincible. None of us are. Any good killer should be able to make his way into your room without waking you."
"And if I am as good as you have trained me to be, I should be awake before he has even opened my door," Jervohl retorted.
The Outlands King looked thoughtful for a moment, and then a slight smile formed on his face. "I could always stay with you," he offered wickedly, "We can keep watch together." Fingers slipped from her hand up her arm.
Jervohl shivered but shook her head, grinning to herself at the incongruity of it all. A month ago she would never have thought he could sound so horribly leering. What was she saying? A month ago she would have said yes on principle, just because she wouldn't have been able to believe such a thing was happening. And now she could. Because they were betrothed, and Gildred would leave in a week to return to his lands and sort out this mess with Madigh and an attempted murder. She would follow a year later after a long-suffering period spent doing all the things that a yearlong engagement stipulated. Her clothing would have to be gone through and settled as befitted the King's consort. She would have to learn how to be his companion and helpmeet, how to provide him with the support he needed. Moreover, she would spend the time trying to decide if this marriage was really what she wanted.
"Very well, then. Here we are." He waited patiently at the door and leaned against the wall beside her, watching her as she opened the door and lingered in the open doorway. "We can always go for a walk," he suggested.
"I am tired. So are you. Go to bed!" She leaned forward quickly and kissed him on the cheek. For all the amusement it afforded her, she still was not used to being so intimate with him. They never had been before. She wondered if she would ever be used to it. Seeing him so calm and relaxed.
"Goodnight, manna."
"Goodnight, My Lord."
Gildred sighed and let his red head fall back to the wall behind it. She always called him by that title. He had the feeling that he should put a stop to that; it sounded as though she approached him in fear. It sounded as though she saw herself on a level lower than his. She was, that was true, simply because she would never hold the same status even when she became his mate. And truly, he liked hearing his title on her lips. To him it sounded sweet, full of promise and caring. It was just the way she said it. But Braan had been very stern about getting her to call him by name.
Gildred trusted Braan. Braan had been his right hand since Gildred had taken the throne. A mere footsoldier, Braan had come from an old race of hired murderers, those that traded in death for money. Braan had taught him, helped craft the vision they both shared. Those skills, combined with the fae's powerstone were more than enough to give them the victories they dreamt of.
But it wasn't the victories that were hard, it was the sustained rule. Making a land filled with chaos elements submit to order. A settlement may be conquered plenty of times, but to make it truly a conquered land was to bring the people to heel. Gildred had been ruthless, and bloody-minded and yes, he had not been very opposed to the rush that power gave him. Holding people's lives in his hands was something he enjoyed. Not many could look back on a hundred years filled with blood and glory and adventure. Gildred could, and he was content with it. Now he wanted to settle down, to find someone he loved, and to perhaps raise a family.
Jervohl was the treasure he had almost killed.
Gildred still smiled about that. The sister of the Goblin King, fighting under an assumed name? Thank one of his newest soldiers that remembered the female from before his exile! Gildred had considered just asking for money or more land from Jareth. And then thought better of it. Jervohl would know the weaknesses of the Goblin Kingdom. Her brother was king and her former lover was a politician with connections. He had used her, grown interested, and fallen. As simple as all that.
He didn't regret it for a moment.
And to top off a good visit to the Castle at the Centre of the Labyrinth, Braan was making arrangements to breed Hastur out. The koern was growing older. He was far from his old age, but conflict would never fully leave the Outlands and Gildred did not want to think about how many times his ferociously loyal mount had saved his life. He would lose Hastur one day. The sensible thing was to guard against that, and to make sure Gildred had another mount to take his place when the time came. That little forest sprite's mate, the dwarf, bred koerns as a business. His herd was one of the best in the land, even if it was still a small one. Surely there was a good female to carry a cub to term?
Gildred thought about that. She would have to be strong, he thought wryly, Hastur was enormous! Crude though the joke seemed, he might just hurt her during the coupling. Stud koerns were always rough during mating, often unsheathing their claws to get a better grip on the female they mounted. Watching koerns mate was not a pretty sight. Gildred didn't want to be held responsible for his mount killing an expensive koern.
Beran did not want that either. He was sitting in a reading room downstairs, just off the throne room, talking business with his lover.
"It would be good for business," he agreed, "And very profitable. Braan says that Gildred will pay for the two months insemination period and the nine months gestation. What do you think?"
"Well, that depends on the price you asked," Elban said bluntly, "Have you seen Hastur? He looks like a monster. I would not dare go near him, nor would I feel safe leaving him with the workers. He might eat them."
"Not safe, is he?" Braan stroked his chin thoughtfully. "It does seem a shame to say no."
Elban narrowed his eyes. "You just like experimenting with what kind of cub such a beast will sire," he accused, "This is not even about business, is it?"
Beran had the grace to look sheepish. "Not really. But I take it I should say no. Hmmm. The size is not important, you know. Female koerns are much more savage in mating season than a male can ever get, no matter how wild the male or how small the female. I think Celeste might match him for size, however, if Gildred likes to be sure to get a large cub. She is not big, but her sire was. The family traits might be enough. However, Celeste has never been mated before. I have no idea if she will take. She is elegant, perfectly beautiful. Beauty is always something people want in their cubs. What do you think?"
Elban was glowering moodily at him. "I think you should say no," he said pointedly, "The strain on our stables alone is not worth it."
"Do you really think so?" Beran looked so woebegone.
Elban melted just a little. "It is all too uncertain. Besides, you have not even seen Hastur. We barely make enough to keep the herd in feed, Beran. If the estate was not self-sufficient, we would be unable to make the workers even work for their board and keep. Celeste is a prize brood female. We cannot afford to lose her to injury."
"Yes, but what if she takes?" Beran's eyes began to sparkle with excitement. "Imagine the cub! From everything Braan has said, Hastur is a truly magnificent specimen. One of the magna lines. You know how rare they are? There are barely ten in the breeding business. And their line is so hard to keep that out of ten of their cubs, just one taking the same traits will be more than lucky. Celeste already has magna blood in her. Hastur is purebred from what I hear. Imagine the outcome!"
"I can. I can see Celeste with long wounds on her flanks from where Hastur gripped at her. And even if she does take, she will surely lose the cub from that."
"Not all koerns unsheath their claws when they mate."
"I read, Beran. The magnas do when in the wild. The reason they are such a small type is because most of their females are too weak from the coupling to carry to term! Hastur was caught in the wild and he will certainly unsheath his claws. Celeste is only a descendant; how will she fight back?"
"I still think it will work," Beran said mulishly.
Elban sighed and put down the papers he had been editing. "I am only managing the side of your business that has numbers. You deal with breeding and care-taking. I look after the amount we spend and I tell you when we get an offer to sell or buy. If you want Hastur for stud, discuss it with Braan and Gildred. I know next to nothing to give you an opinion."
"Oh, now, come, my lovely! I did not mean to upset you." Braan really did live in fear of that. Elban had already run away once; who knew but that he would do it again? And this time, since they were already in the Castle, Beran would not know where to go to get him back.
"I am not upset!" Elban visibly controlled his outrage. Beran always would treat him like a porcelain statue sitting on a crooked table, even if he were less frantic about the possible harm of Elban leaving the safety of his bed and his sight. "Never mind. Are you coming up to bed?"
"In a minute. What are those?" A stubby finger stabbed in the direction of the papers the forest sprite had put down. "The adoption papers?"
"Yes. They will be brothers! Can you believe it? Such nonsense!"
"Why not? They get along well enough if they can stay out of each other's way."
Elban pitied his lover, he really did. Beran was the sweetest, most devoted animal rearer in the Underground. Possibly in the entire magical dimension. But if there was one thing he didn't really understand, it was Jareth. Not that Elban was an expert but he liked to think that there were certain experiences that afforded him a more thorough preparation. "I see," he remarked offhand, "You think they stay out of each other's way, do you? Even when Toby has not left his side for all these days?"
Beran's jaw dropped, as did the realization.
"A-ha! Now you get it." Elban triumphantly smacked the table. "I knew you would see it! Is it not obvious? Well, once you know of it?"
"Ye-ees," Beran said cautiously. He scratched his head and frowned in thought. "But they seem so disconnected from each other."
"They never leave each other's side. They constantly walk into rooms and look straight at the other before even greeting everyone else. They nod at whatever the other says in understanding, even if they are about to disagree. And they take great pains to seem disconnected!"
"But why?" Beran asked plaintively.
"Who knows? They are both mad. And they are both male. They probably want to protect their egos by pretending they feel nothing that they do feel." Elban had no time for people who kept things private just because they thought they knew what was going on. He might have done it himself a few times- and yes, alright, than was more than ten times- but it only meant that he could speak from experience. No hypocrisy at all, thank you very much!
Beran thought about it some more. The clock struck thirteen and the magic in the Castle clearly said that someone very powerful- Jareth probably- was at work. In fact, now that he thought about it, he could vaguely remember a wish being heard from Aboveground. Another challenger? Possibly. They usually turned up at night.
"This is why I like koerns," Beran commented suddenly, "They are absolutely open. They mate during the mating season and their manes go grey when they are ill or unhappy. Nothing whatsoever with issues with humans or what patch of grass reminds them of which lover. They just eat and sleep and run around. Simple. Everyone should be a koern!"
Elban stifled a giggle. "May I remind you," he said severely, "That I take great exception to being a dumb beast with nothing to do but eat and sleep? It is singularly boring."
"Yes, well, your best friend there would be a lot easier to understand if he only mated when he needed to and only spent his time eating and sleeping. Of course," Braan was forced to add, "He usually does just that in any case. But only because he has an agenda, damn it! No koern has an agenda!"
"No koern is bisexual either," Elban pointed out thoughtfully, "This is strange. I would never have thought he would finally end with another male. He likes his females too much. Though I suppose he does not have to give them up…"
They looked at each other.
"Toby will make him give them up," Beran agreed, "Come along. We should go to bed. We have to see Hastur in the morning."
Elban nodded and went with him, but halfway up the stairs he stopped and hesitated. The sound of raised voices was coming from the throne room. It sounded like arguing. The heated smack of flesh on flesh eventually made his mind up. "I think I will see if Jareth needs some help managing the new Wished-away."
Beran merely grunted and continued on up the staircase.
Elban didn't get far. Jareth came storming out less than a moment later, a furious gleam in his eyes as he shook the pain from his hand. He said something rude under his breath when he saw the forest sprite and deliberately went around him, not stopping to chat before vanishing somewhere.
Elban wasn't too bothered. It was a good thing if Jareth didn't stop to tell him what had happened. He only did that when he felt guilty or in need of reassurance. Clearly he needed neither. Elban was all for the Goblin King standing on his own two feet. It could get messy being leaned on for support. So he cautiously went to the Throne Room and went in.
A young man was sitting there, glaring up at the ceiling as he lay on his back on the sunken pit in the middle of the room. Elban was barely two steps into the room when another person entered behind him. He turned, fully expecting his friend to have returned. But it was only Crase. The fae looked surprised to see him there but didn't take the time to question his presence. He went to the man staring at the two of them and said something quiet to him.
Now that the young man was sitting up, Elban could see a lovely purple bruise on the man's cheek. Made, probably, by a fist hitting his face.
"Will you come with me, Mr, Jenkins? His Majesty has ordered a room to be readied for you. He desires you to get some rest."
"I'll stay right here, thanks, until Donnie comes and gets me."
"Who is Donnie?" Elban asked interestedly.
"My boyfriend," Mr. Jenkins huffed, "And he won't be happy to see how you guys treat me."
Elban shared a mutual look of unimpressed credulity with Crase. The fae straightened up and looked as if he would much rather have been back in bed than standing there running errands for a furious Goblin King.
"Mr. Jenkins," Elban began.
"Carl," Mr. Jenkins insisted impatiently, "Call me Carl. Mr. Jenkins sounds like a lawyer. And I am not a lawyer."
"Oh. Alright. Carl," Elban corrected himself, "Could you possibly find it in yourself to tell me why His Majesty hit you?"
"Hit me?" Carl looked genuinely surprised. "That guy with the tight pants and the hair? He never hit me. The guys that were outside the club hit me. Donnie was kicking their asses when one of them said the darnedest thing. And then what's his name- the guy with the tight pants…"
"He is the King of the Underground," Crase broke in quickly, "I suggest you call him His Majesty like the rest of us. Your version is too long."
"Yeah, well, I'm American. I don't believe in Kings."
Elban was inclined to think that the man was also just a little mad. Jareth didn't look as if he would find it very amusing in his present loss of temper. He looked at Crase and backed slowly to the door. "Well, I suppose I am no longer needed."
"Oh, hey," Carl called after him, "If you still want to know, that guy didn't hit me."
"Then what did?"
"Um, the guy- His Majesty- he brought one of those assholes with him. The guy that wished me away or whatever, he tried to punch him too but His Majesty just caught his fist in his hand and said something really loudly. I don't know what it was; it was in another language."
Crase bit his lip and signalled to Elban to come closer. Dropping his voice, he spoke in fae for good measure. "This is the third time that man has wished someone else away. Donnie, whoever the man is, will not run the Labyrinth. The other one will. Except he elected to take the wishes instead, just as before."
"Jareth cannot force anyone to run the Labyrinth," Elban objected.
"It seems there is a by-rule that states that he may do so, if he believes that the victim was wished away just so the challenger could benefit from the act of exchange." Crase was not very certain about that. From what he remembered, there was no such rule. But if there were not, it seemed Jareth was about to make it. Which meant the Council would be called again because it would have to be voted upon, as all laws were. "It seems Jareth was fed up with being called upon to take away those that this person wishes away. It seems he targets certain people."
"Look, could you guys talk English? I'm getting really confused here." Carl was getting more than confused, he was beginning to panic. Getting out of a fight was great as far as he was concerned. Those assholes had been hanging around the club and picking on certain couples for weeks now. People were beginning to stay away because they didn't want trouble. But Donnie had taken it too hard, had got in a fight, and now Carl didn't know where the hell he was or why he was standing in a stone room at dead of night with two strange people talking in another language in front of him.
"Sorry," Crase apologized. "Perhaps I should introduce myself. My name is Crase. I am a fae, one of those you might call a fairy in your world. This is Elban. He is a forest sprite. We usually just call each other by name. But if you would prefer a more formal title, simply affix the term Mister to our names."
Carl blinked in disbelief. "Okay. Um, Crase, right? And Elban?" The two of them nodded. "Where the hell am I?"
"Ah." They looked at each other. Elban sighed and said, "I wish the Goblin King were here right now." He waited for a minute and nothing happened. "He will be here shortly. How do I explain in the meantime? You are in a Kingdom called the Underground. It is on a separate dimension to Earth, but connected in certain ways. I think you will find that the other man that His Majesty brought here has wished you away. Tell me, was this other man a friend?"
Carl looked revolted and spat on the floor to emphasize his disgust. "Not a chance! I have no time for bigots. Considering he was trying to kick my stomach through my spine, I'd say he didn't like me too."
Oh. So that was where the man's power over Carl came from. Elban nodded and listened. "His Majesty is almost here. He can answer your questions."
Crase pondered whether he would be given one of those deadly glares for not having done as Jareth had asked. But then Elban was to blame and the Goblin King did not really ever take his best friend to task for anything.
Jareth did turn up, but only for a few minutes. He went to the man, handed him a crystal and murmured something in his ear. Carl looked down at the crystal, his eyes widened and then he sat down very suddenly on the floor. He began to say something under his breath before he buried his head in his arms and started rocking back and forth. Jareth winced but didn't try to stop him.
"I told him that the challenger is running the Labyrinth for him, but that he should resign himself to the fact that he will never return to Earth," Jareth called in fae, "Yava should have that bedroom ready. Take him there. Put him to bed and try to get him to sleep."
Crase nodded and tucked a gentle hand under the bony elbow, tugging until Carl got the message and stood up. Looking as confused as a child, the man followed the fae out of the throne room without question. Jareth was obviously not happy about the situation. He sat down in the throne and looked at Elban as if the forest sprite should have the answers to questions he hadn't yet asked.
"You could have let him hope," Elban proposed, "It seems unkind to just tell him before he even knows what is going on." Secretly, the sprite wondered why Carl had looked disbelieving when he tried to explain where he was, but had absolutely trusted that what the Goblin King told him was the truth. "And why give him a crystal to see what he has left behind?"
"I gave him the crystal so he could take a last look at his boyfriend," Jareth spat, "The man practically hammered the challenger over the head with a pipe when I was trying to get them away, so I would think the two were close." A strange look flit across his face. "They lived together, it seemed. Donnie will notice when his lover does not go home."
Elban winced too sympathetically. Humans were very cruel, it seemed. And if Crase was right, this man had done it deliberately, hoping to make both men hurt and suffer. But why? Elban couldn't see the reason. Carl was brash, perhaps, but he did not seem the type to needle someone until they wanted him hurt. And not killed either, but hurt so much more because he had to live with it. "So you gave him the crystal for what purpose?" He was pushing his luck by asking questions, but sometimes Jareth didn't notice and just answered them honestly.
"If I took you from Beran, would you not prefer to get one last glimpse of your lover even if you could not talk to him?"
"Probably." Elban thought it made sense. Cruel sense, but sense of some sort. "Why did he do it? The challenger, I mean."
The Goblin King didn't answer right away. Surprisingly enough, he flushed in anger first and looked out the window as if about to go back out and throttle the challenger himself. But then he lapsed from that stiff posture and leaned back, fixing a coldly casual eye on his best friend. "He is one of those famously discriminating people of the Aboveground. Everyone down here has heard of them- racists, sexists, religious fanatics… this one is homophobic."
"He is allergic to something?"
"No. He despises homosexuals. He discriminates against them. This is the third time he has used me to- what did he call it- rid the world of another faggot." The words were hissed so sharply they could slice air. Those gloved hands were clenched tight enough on the curved seat to be noticeable. "He picks a couple and abuses them. Makes their lives hell. Most of them he just terrorizes until they break up or have to move to get away from him. Others, like Carl, he wishes away when they fight back."
Elban felt sick. The Underground had no such distinctions. True, people had been shocked about his decision to take a dwarf as his mate, but only because Beran was not known at all and Elban was, through association with the Goblin King, one of the most eligible males in good society. That, and they were of two different races. And of course because it had happened no fast. And because dwarfish marriages always had someone to take the feminine role and Elban had done it. But to discriminate because a male liked other males? It was sick, and it was disturbing.
It made him wonder whether Gildred was not right about cutting away the connections between the two dimensions. What trouble would human bigotry cause in the freely open culture of the Underground? He didn't like to think of it.
"Not all humans are idiots," Jareth soothed, putting a hand on Elban's shoulder and pushing him into the throne to sit, "You have met so many; have they ever made you feel less of a person because of your relationship with Beran?"
"No."
Jareth nodded and left him there as he went to the window. Slipping out mentally to check in on his challenger and hating the very sight of him. Twice was annoying, but Jareth was not happy to be the garbage can where people dumped what they thought was garbage. How was it possible to hold so little value for human life? Never mind the bigotry, how could people wish anyone else away? Why did they abuse their power over each other so much?
The challenger was struggling up a hill. And Jareth smirked as he stroked the Labyrinth's ego, patted it and petted it and suggested certain things in its figurative ear. The Labyrinth might or might not respond. It did this time. Just as the human got halfway up the hill,the hillturned to glass and he slid all the way down again with a yell. Jareth watched him try three times. All three times, the man got halfway before it turned to slippery glass. All three times the man slid down. He was red in the face and livid with anger, his lips thin though they were mostly hidden by his beard.
Jareth nodded in satisfaction and left him for a little while. It had taken him a lot to even persuade the man to try. And only because he had used a little known loophole- the challenger could not get out of the Underground unless the Goblin King wished it. And this particular Goblin King would not let this particular challenger leave the Underground until he reached the Castle. Jareth was not about to let him get to the Castle at all… EVER!
He smirked to himself, aware that it was a cruel thing to take a man's life in such a slow and painstaking way. He knew it. But did he care? Not at all. It was not even anything to do with Carl and Donnie in particular, but merely the fact that he was tired of humans and tired of their hypocrisy. All the annoyance and hatred and disgust with human nature that the entire Underground felt, he gathered into himself and used against this challenger.
Carl would forget Donnie. He had no other choice. He was a young man and young men were remarkably resilient. He would find someone else and he would learn to make a life in the Underground, just as so many others had done in just the passed year alone. He turned around and Elban had left, slipping away quietly to sneak up to his bedroom and find reassurance with his lover. Jareth didn't have that luxury. Nor did he want to. He didn't see Toby as his lover; Toby wasn't. Not as far as he knew, at least. Not in that kind of way.
But just to be certain that Toby, for all his humanity, was still someone he wanted to know, he went up to the bedroom, walking because he needed time to think. He didn't knock on the door. He went right in. He shut the door behind him and went to sit on the bed next to the sleeping figure.
Toby was tangled up in his blankets just like a little boy, with the pillow formerly under his head now thrown haphazardly on the floor and the sheets twisted around his torso and his legs. Toes curled as if his feet were just a little cold. Without even thinking Jareth leaned down and pulled the blankets straighter, covering him completely. It was easy to forget that Toby was still over a hundred years younger than he was. Easier, of course, to forget that Toby was a grown adult and needed to be treated like one. Jareth was always slipping from one perception to the other, using the one most convenient for his needs.
But Toby was old enough and too young and perfectly adorable when he was asleep and snoring so loudly.
Jareth sighed softly and shook his head at himself. It was too obvious if anyone saw him sitting here and watching Toby sleep. Of course he liked him. He was attracted to him. But to take a chance on a maybe? He wasn't ready yet. He might never be. And if he ever did find himself willing to take that chance, Toby was going to be his brother in three days. Less, if one thought that they would sign the papers on the third morning, before the day was properly started.
Should he tell him?
To tell Toby or not to tell Toby. That was just one of the questions.
He stroked the grown out hair and made a note to tell Toby to get his hair cut. He looked better with short hair. It looked different. Jareth liked it. He wouldn't have to bother about Toby being discriminating. The mortal went out of his way to treat everyone the same. It annoyed his guardian, but it certainly was better than the bigotry.
Jareth left just as silently, shutting the door behind him as he went back to his own room, the cape slung over his arm and waiting to tossed into a corner and forgotten.
