"Allez-vous nous emmener dans les mines, ou non?"

"Prouvez que vous n'êtes pas avec le gouvernement. Où sont leurs papiers?"

"Pourquoi êtes-vous si intéressé? Allez-vous nous prendre ou non?"

Nala glanced nervously at Nigel as their translator exchanged words of frustration with their driver. She didn't understand any French beyond basic phrases she'd managed to pick up from a language cassette from the library, but the local accent was too thick and rounded for her to make out even the most basic of phrases, sounding nothing like the airy and clipped French accents she'd heard on television. Both were completely helpless to understand or assist. Nigel, however, looked nonchalant.

"We'll get there one way or another," he murmured to her, as if reading her thoughts. "I'm not leaving this country without something to print."

"Me neither," she tried to level her voice, subtly drawing in a deep breath and exhaling slowly in an effort to calm her beating heart. The disagreement in the front seat of the beaten up hatchback wasn't aggressive, and didn't seem to be escalating, but it was a bump in the road for which Nala was nothing but a helpless passenger. She hadn't accounted for how vulnerable being in a country with a foreign lingua franca would make her feel. She had no control or agency, and was putting more trust than she cared into an animal they'd only met the night before. Yes, Pierrot had been hired through their trustworthy network of contacts at the Tribune and had been vouched for, but Nala had never met him previously. She knew nothing about him, other than the fact that he had some friendly connections that put him in a position where someone higher on the ladder than her or Nigel felt that they could trust him. For Nala, this was hardly enough. But, she had no other choice, and besides, this was what she'd signed up for; a foreign field assignment. She'd been lucky to have been put in the pool of consideration at all, to land a spot next to Nigel White was something to be proud of in an of itself. Nigel liked Nala well enough, she felt, but he was tough on her, keeping his expectations high at all times. She'd worked with him long enough to understand that this was a compliment.

Finally, the debate between Pierrot and Louvain was settled, and they drove forward, though their driver looked decidedly irate. She chose to follow Nigel's lead and ignore the driver's sour mood as best as she could.

Eventually, they came to a stop in the outskirts of the village, where they met their first clue: a new water filter being used by a family of warthogs. Nigel spotted it quickly, and asked for the car to stop. She followed him out of the vehicle, where the locals assessed them with frowns. It occurred to Nala that her idea of casual outdoor attire was still much more expensive and formal than anything any of them wore. She and Nigel stuck out like sore thumbs.

"Where did you get that?" Nigel frowned, gesturing to the filter. Nala looked more closely, and realized that it was, in fact, an 'Ell-O' brand water filter, a company that manufactured under the Rivermouth conglomerate umbrella. They didn't sell those filters in this part of the world, which meant, more than likely, that it had been obtained illegally. And judging from the newness of the model, it had been obtained recently. It was too new to have been passed down the ladder through a charity outreach program or secondhand sale.

"Où as-tu eu ça?" Pierrot relayed.

"De Rouge, le lion," the warthog shrugged. "J'ai échangé pour ça."

"She says she made a trade with a lion named Red," Pierrot looked at Nigel. "Is that who we're looking for?"

"It's a start," Nigel glanced at Nala. "Ready to start digging a little deeper?"

"You know it," Nala clicked her pen. "Where do we find this 'Red?'"

"Madame," Pierrot asked the local politely, "où peut-on trouver du Rouge?"

The warthog shook her head, and relayed something with a grunt.

"She says she doesn't talk to outsiders like that," Pierrot looked at Nala almost apologetically. "We should keep moving."

The Ell-O water filtration systems were bright cyan blue, with silver canisters that shone in the sun. While some items in the earth-toned village were starkly modern, only the filtration systems were that shade of blue, and thus, they were easy to spot. They spoke to six other locals of various species, but none would reveal where they had obtained the filters, becoming wary and tight-lipped when pressed for details. All of them knew where the filters had come from, and none of them were willing to give Nala and Nigel a name.

They took a break in the middle of the day, leaning against the car as they watched some antelope till a field. The workers moved swiftly and effectively, creating dozens of little rows in the soil that were perfectly straight.

"We need a different approach," Nigel stretched, cracking his neck. "Most of the animals we've talked to have been willing to hear us out, but close up and get suspicious when we ask about this 'Red.' We have to find him, but we need to go about it differently."

"Well, hear me out," Pierrot rubbed his chin. "Take your shirt off."

"My what?" Nigel blinked.

"You're wearing a button-down. Out here, only the police, workers for the government, and rogue militiamen wear button-downs. None of those are animals these guys want to talk to. This country has seen a lot of in-fighting, but this area has remained fairly peaceful, it's in the name. They want to keep it that way. Take your shirt off and let her do the talking," he pointed at Nala. "And don't ask about the filters. This 'Red' is a lion, right?"

"Right," Nigel nodded.

"Well, and I mean absolutely no disrespect, Miss Ngome," he nodded to her, "but look at it from their point of view. In our first approach, we have some well-dressed foreigners asking where they got some expensive stolen water filters that are better than the ones they can get legally. Furthermore, you're asking specifically about the guy who got them to you, likely risking his own safety so they could have cleaner water. I'm on your side, and I wouldn't want to talk to you. But," he shrugged. "in an alternative approach, you have a wealthy foreign lioness and her shirtless bodyguard asking for a male lion. They'll assume she's an escort who got lost and probably be more forthcoming, yes?"

"I don't want to do that," Nigel dismissed.

"Why not?" Nala demanded. "What if he's right?"

"There has to be a way that doesn't involve implying that you're an escort."

"Nigel, he's asking me to ask for an address and let their assumptions fall where they may, not strip for their entertainment. I don't see a downside."

"You sure?" Nigel rose his eyebrows.

"Absolutely," she stood. "Let's do it."

It took them less than an hour to locate another filter, hidden poorly by a piece of rusted tin roofing leaned against a home, the cyan blue paint peeking above the rust. Louvain stopped the car, dust billowing from under the tires.

"I don't know how I'll feel if this works," Nigel muttered, clutching his balled-up shirt in his paws.

"You'll be happy we're another step closer," Nala dismissed, stepping out confidently, Pierrot already on her shoulder. Nigel climbed out after them with a grunt, clearly still experiencing mixed feelings about the plan. Nala found it amusing that Nigel was known for his willingness to dive into ethical gray areas on his own accord, but scoffed at the idea of bringing the younger journalist with him. She approached the hand-carved door, taking a second to admire the care that was put into crafting it, practicing the phrase that Pierrot had coached her to say during their search for another filter. A large male leopard answered, staring down at her with an incredulous expression, a rolled newspaper in his paw.

"Bonsoir, je cherche la maison de Rouge," she rehearsed, well-aware that she'd butchered the pronunciation.

Instantly, the leopard's expression morphed into one of great amusement, and he laughed.

"Ah, bien pour lui! Il habite juste en haut de la route, tournez à droite dans cette ferme et conduisez jusqu'au baril de pétrole. Sa maison a le petit hamac."

"Merci!" Pierrot grinned. "Vous avez un jour béni."

"Fait-elle des visites à domicile?" He leaned into the doorframe, winking at Nala.

"Ah, pas pour personne," Pierrot laughed uncomfortably, "mon ami, peut-être un autre jour, huh?"

The leopard shrugged and closed the door with a chuckle.

"So?" Nala asked as they headed back to the car.

"We have directions!" Pierrot announced.

"Wonderful," she offered her paw, which he high-fived enthusiastically.

"Males are truly incorrigible," Nigel sighed. "I can't believe it was that easy."

"Stop moping about the moral state of things," Nala tossed him his shirt. "Let's go talk to Red."

The area they were directed to was beyond the outskirts of town, far enough off the beaten path that their car wasn't able to travel over the thin trodden paths through the fields, though it looked as if a narrower vehicle might have been able to continue. So they parked the car and began to walk, Louvain insisting on staying in the vehicle. Whether this was to protect his assent or to assert his lack of interest, Nala couldn't be sure.

They walked past the scattered tin-roofed homes dwellings, flanked with clotheslines and small personal gardens. One female baboon glared at them suspiciously as she sculped a clay pot with her hands. Nala's eyes met hers for a second, and she a sudden sense of unease. They weren't welcome, she could feel it. The thick humid air seemed to chill as she took this in. Following the leopard's directions, they came to a small clay-clad building, no more than twelve-by-twelve feet. The porch was amble, with a small rodent-sized hammock strung from the uneven wooden posts. An open glass bottle was standing on the plank railing. As they approached the double door, one large door with a smaller one within it, Nala took a closer look at the bottle. She couldn't read the label, but she smelled that it was beer. It was half-full, but hot from sitting in the midday sun, with no trace of condensation or foam. It had been sitting out for hours and begun to attract flies.

Nigel knocked politely, Pierrot in his paw, before stepping back. There was a long pause. Then, the smaller door opened slowly, a meerkat's face emerging with a forced smile.

"Well well well, à quoi devons-nous le plaisir?" He chuckled nervously, tapping the wooden door with his paw.

"Bonne après-midi," Pierrot tipped his hat with a friendly smile. "Nous espérons trouver du Rouge, habite-t-il ici?"

"Rouge?" The meerkat asked loudly. "Pourquoi tu le cherches?"

"Please make it clear that we're not trying to hunt this 'Red' down," Nigel murmured to Pierrot. "He seems nervous, we just want to talk."

"Oh, yeah, that's a relief!" The meerkat retorted in perfect English. "'Hey buddy, we're not hunting you down!' Yeah, that's what every guy wants to hear from a stranger knocking at his front door! Boy, am I relieved!"

"I assume you're not Red, do we have the wrong home?" Nigel asked calmly.

"What's it to ya, Briefcase?" The small animal shot back.

"We're not with the government or police," Nigel's voice took on the warm tone he was able to cultivate when he wanted someone to trust him. "We just want to ask a few questions, we're with the press."

"Oh, you know who's really well-read? The police and government!"

"We could keep you anonymous," Nala offered.

"No offense sweet cheeks," the meerkat looked up at her sourly, "but that's not gonna cut it."

"Well, we're sorry to have bothered you," Nigel stepped back. "Is their a neighbor we might have more luck with?"

"Yeah, we don't roll like that around here. You should go, this isn't a place for tourists, y'know? Animals get lost."

Nala's eye was caught by the sight of movement. Glancing over, she saw that it was a tarp moving in the breeze just around the corner of the home. The tarp was covering a pile of boxes.

"We understand," Nigel nodded, stepping back as the meerkat slammed the door shut. "Well, then," he turned. "Let's move."

"Nigel," she tapped his elbow with her pen and gestured. He peered over and assessed what she was pointing at. It looked like there was a stockpile hidden under a large tarp behind the home. They were looking for stolen goods, and this meerkat either lived with Red, or knew him.

"I see it," he sighed dejectedly, just as frustrated as she was at being forced to walk away from their biggest lead yet as they headed back to the car. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I should have kept my shirt off."

"There's one for the office 'out of context' bulletin board," Nala quipped half-heartedly.

"Just keep walking," Nigel deadpanned.

"No."

"Please?"

"Absolutely not," Nigel was firm. Nala sat dejectedly on his hotel bed. "I mean, do you even hear yourself?" He continued. "Venturing back out there at night, unarmed without a translator, to look for stolen items that will absolutely be guarded by someone who doesn't want to get caught? Nala, come on."

"I won't ask again," she let out a small sigh, rubbing her arm.

"I want this just as much as you," he sat next to her, the mattress creaking beneath them. "And, yes, I'll admit today we seemed to run into nothing but dead ends, and that was frustrating. But if we build a case, we can always come back."

"Right." Neither of them believed that the paper would approve, much less fund, a second trip. This was their only shot. "Except we were probably at Red's doorstep, and we saw those boxes. That wasn't a dead end, we just had a door closed in our faces. Literally. There has to be another way to talk to this guy, even if his roommate doesn't like us."

"You know," Nigel looked at the chipped tile floor, "in the late eighties, about ten years or so ago, back when you were still in school, I went by myself to this little town called Sau Rioz. I was given enough of a stipend to buy a taxi there, eat three meals per day, sleep in a bed, and take a taxi back. Not a bit more. I had three days to find a leopard named Maritza. I didn't have an age, last name, location, nothing. I didn't even know for sure if she was in that village. It was a mission I felt was doomed to fail from the start, I knew I didn't have a prayer."

"What did you do?" Nala leaned closer, curious to see where this anecdote was going.

"Well," he gestured vaguely, "I realized that what I wanted was possible, right? Someone knew where she was, I just had to access that information, and I could do the rest myself. So, I needed to find that middleman. I was thinking this over in the taxi, right? So I leaned forward and I asked the driver. Total shot in the dark. And he glances at me in the rearview mirror, and I'll never forget this, he grunts, 'Why should I tell you that?' I realized that I was missing something; incentive. Animals only talk when they have an incentive. Now some like to share, some love to talk. Too much, if you ask me. But some don't have any incentive. Now, I couldn't explain to him why I was looking for her, the interview was sensitive in nature, and it would have been a violation of her privacy to tell him that. But then, I realized that incentives can be so much more simple. So, I took my stipend, all cash, and I showed it to him and asked if he would help me. Half then, half after I found her. He took me straight to her home. She was willing to speak to me, she fed me, let me sleep on her couch, and I hitchhiked to a bus station and bought a ticket back with my credit card."

"Sounds like it all worked out."

"It did," he nodded slowly.

"Are you suggesting..."

"I'm suggesting that we perhaps aren't as hungry as we thought we were," he gave her a knowing look. "Besides, in the old days, predators used to go days without eating all the time."

"I think I've lost my appetite as well," Nala grinned. "I don't mind not eating."

"Tomorrow," Nigel waved his wallet, "we'll see if that meerkat is more interested in talking, eh?"

"I love when your pragmatism slides you into a gray area," Nala smirked. "What would Kathleen think?"

"Oh, my wife will love it," he rolled his eyes. "She's always saying I need to watch my weight, she'll see this as an absolute win for everybody."

"She'll call it direct financial stimulation of a third world," Nala shook her head.

"Exactly, call it..." he thought for a moment, "...a type of charity."

"Just don't tell my mother," Nala shot him a look as she stood to leave his room, the only place they could meet to debrief and discuss.

"Lord, no. As far as Ms. Sarafina will know, we knocked on that door and the meerkat invited us in for tea."

Standing at sharp end of a machete, Nala had to admit that mistakes had been made.

"Whoa, easy," Nigel put his paws up, trying to edge closer to Nala in order to protect her, moving slowly. "We don't want any trouble."

"Strayed a little far from the tourist group, haven't we?" The young lion at the other end of the machete asked darkly in fluent English, with nary a trace of an accent. Nala's heart pounded in her chest, unsure what he would do. His amber eyes were angry. He had not hesitated to spring upon them, weapon drawn and teeth bared, as soon as they'd approached the rear of the house after the meerkat had hesitantly taken their bribe and scurried back into the tiny building without further discussion. Neither Nala nor Nigel had had time to react. It was now abundantly clear that the meerkat had taken their money, knowing the lion had been waiting for them. Fleetingly Nala wished that Pierrot had come with them, but she knew that there was little he could have done for them in that moment. A language barrier was not the issue.

The lion was taller than Nigel, about Nala's age, and dressed in a threadbare tunic and loose pants. His bright red mane had flecks of dirt in it, but he was otherwise groomed and fit. She could see that his paw pads were cracked and dry from hard labor in the sun. "Timon, give them their cash back," he ordered.

"But-!" The meerkat called Timon began to protest.

"Timon."

"Finders keepers if you ask me," The meerkat dropped the bills at his feet with a scowl. "This stuff doesn't grow on trees."

"They'll need it for their cab back to civilization after they explain why they would pay for the opportunity to prowl around our house."

"You must be Red," Nala found the courage to speak.

"And you must be crazy," his gaze shifted between them. "Why, who's asking?"

"Just us," Nigel took over, his voice a measured calm. "We're just journalists, we're not armed, especially not her."

"There's nothing here for your show and tell," the lion pointed his weapon at Nigel.

"The only thing of value to me right now is her safety," Nigel delicately pointed at Nala. "At least let her walk back to the car."

"If she was so helpless and you were such a gentleman," the stranger pointed the machete back at Nala, "you wouldn't have let her walk back here first, how stupid do you think I am? Who sent you?"

"Nala," Nigel spoke quietly, "show him your ID and empty your pockets."

Glaring at the lion, whose expression had warped from aggression to confusion, Nala shoved her paw into her pocket and pulled out the only thing she was carrying; her passport. She tossed it in the dirt between them bitterly before making a show of pulling her pockets inside out. The stranger stepped forward with a preoccupied frown, reaching slowly for her passport. As he bent, Nala was possessed by a surge of bravery. She sprung, knocking the machete from his paw and diving forward, roughly shoving the stranger into the ground with the force of her entire body weight before she'd even processed what she'd just done.

"Whoa!" The meerkat leaped back. "Pumbaa, backup, lion down, lion down!"

"I'm comin'!" A raspy voice cried out from behind the small hut.

"Wait!" The lion shoved his paw out. "No, stand down!"

A warthog who evidently answered to 'Pumbaa,' who was carrying a pistol, skidded to a stop.

"What?" He was bewildered

"I said stand down!" The lion shouted. Pumbaa lowered the gun, his face twisted in confusion, looking to the meerkat who shook his head and shrugged.

Nala gasped in surprise as Nigel roughly grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet, pointing the machete at the lion's face, who slowly propped himself on his elbows, his back still in the dirt, looking at Nala with a pant.

"...Nala?" He was breathless, as she'd nearly knocked the wind from him. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"We are leaving," Nigel backed away, pushing Nala behind him.

"Hey, that's our machete!" Timon shouted. Pumbaa raised the gun again.

"Pumbaa, cut it out, the hell?!" The lion snapped.

"Uhh..." The warthog seemed hopelessly lost.

"Jesus Christ, just drop it!"

"Eep! Dropping it!" Pumbaa set it down carefully, practicing perfect trigger safety with his hooves.

"Wait, Nala," The lion scrambled to his feet with a cough, "Nala, stop, it's me!"

"I've never seen you in my life," Nala backed away faster, her voice tense with fear.

"It's me, it's Simba!" He gestured to himself. Nala stopped in her tracks.

"What," Nigel wasn't buying it. "You mean like kid who died in the fire? What makes you think we'd fall for that scam? The money's still on the ground, keep that and spare us, alright?"

"No, wait, I-" he tried to catch his breath, "I can prove it."

"Not one step closer," Nigel warned, still wielding the machete. The younger lion ignored him, focused solely on Nala, who was looking at the features of his face more closely.

"Your mom's name is Sarafina, she's a dental hygienist, you lived in apartment 412 in the Riverwind building, you played clarinet."

"All easily looked up with a few phone calls or one internet search," Nigel shook his head. "Nice try."

"Wait," he took one more deep breath, looking deep into Nala's eyes with an expression that she couldn't deny looked very familiar. "One time, you and I broke into the maintenance hall of your building and we made it onto the roof, and we had an argument about what would happen if we dropped a penny over the side. I said it would kill someone, and you said it wouldn't, so I dared you to drop the penny, but you wouldn't do it because you were afraid I was right. Then we went back to your apartment and watched cartoons, and nobody ever caught us."

"So you have internet and found her blog, congratulations," Nigel sighed in exasperation. "Nala, don't fall for it."

"I don't have a blog," Nala's voice was soft as she realized who she was looking at. "I never wrote that story down, or told anyone about it. The only animal who could know about it is...Simba."

"I would always change my mind about what my favorite color was," the young lion continued, encouraged by her willingness to hear him out. "But yours was always green, and you hated purple, so whenever your mom got those frozen popsicle tubes, you'd give all the purple grape ones to me, and I'd eat them all at once to turn my tongue purple."

"And you would threaten to lick me with your purple tongue," Nala recalled as she stepped to the side to get a better look at him. "...Simba? Is that...really you?"

"Yeah. It's me."

"I don't care if you can recall every fun childhood story she doesn't remember telling a friend, I'm not buying this!" Nigel resisted. "You're going to have to do better than that."

"Nigel," Nala tugged at his sleeve, here eyes wide. "I think it's really him."

"Well, I don't! Nala, you can't underestimate what these conmen are capable of, the resources they have access to!"

"No, Nigel, I know, but-"

"Alright hotshot," Simba gestured emptily. "What'll it take to convince you?"

"Nothing short of a DNA test, quite frankly!"

"Yeah, well, we don't have that kind of technology here and even if we did, you don't have anything to compare it to."

"Whaaaat the hell," Timon gestured at the lions while looking back at Pumbaa, "is happening?" Pumbaa shrugged.

"The police station in Zootopia has an evidence file with some of Simba's fur in it," Nigel cocked his head. "We'd compare it to that, if you had the means to come to Zootopia and give some DNA, but I bet you conveniently don't have a valid ID for travel, do you?"

"Nala," Simba pressed on, ignoring Nigel, "one time your dad came to visit, which was weird because he never did, and he taught us how to play blackjack, and your mom got so mad because she thought it was some sort of gateway to a gambling issue and then within a month we'd both forgotten how to play and made up our own game instead. You don't have any allergies, but you once pretended to be allergic to peanut butter because you hated the texture and said it always got stuck to the roof of your mouth. You had a pencil case full of those little eraser shape things, but you never used them because you said you wanted to keep them nice and I always told you how stupid that was. The last time I saw you, you were wearing a dark green dress with all of these ruffles, and I gave you a little button on a chain as a necklace."

"I still have it," Nala choked out, tears brimming in her eyes. "Oh my God..."

Unable to deny that Simba had convinced Nala, Nigel didn't stop her as she ran and threw her arms around him. He rocked back with a strained laugh.

"Easy," he coughed, "God, I think you almost broke one of my ribs."

"What the hell are you doing here?" She scanned his face, trying to relearn every curve and angle. Everywhere she looked, he seemed both more familiar and more different.

"Hey, I asked you first."

"Hi, over here!" Timon waved. "I also have a few questions! And have we all forgotten that he still has your machete?!" He pointed in an exasperated fashion at Nigel.

"Right," Nigel grunted, dropping the weapon. "Here."

"Thanks," Simba eyed Nigel. "So, who the hell are you?"

"This is Nigel White," Nala explained. "He's my boss, and a good friend."

"You'll have to forgive my continued doubt that you are who you say you are," Nigel offered his paw. "But I'll extend my courtesies regardless."

"And you'll have to excuse the fact that I don't care," Simba took his paw and shook it firmly.

"Fair." Nigel wasn't terribly offended, even appearing slightly bemused by Simba's blunt retort.

"Simba, what...what happened to you?" Nala looked at him pleadingly, still reeling from the shock of the reveal.

"Um," Simba let out a long breath as he bent over and picked her passport off, dusting it off slowly, "it's...complicated."

"I'll say," Timon scoffed. "Dude, what is this?"

"Hey 'dude,'" Simba addressed his friend. "Read the room, huh?"

"Sorry," Timon seemed genuinely apologetic, realizing he'd touched a nerve. The joy in Simba's face had quickly drained. He looked guarded and a little distressed. "You know," Timon took a step back, "I think, uh, I think Pumbaa and I have some stuff we need to pick up, we should, ah, we should...go."

"What? Oh," Pumbaa picked his pistol up and backed away, following Timon. "Riiiight." As the two smaller animals stepped out of sight, Pumbaa's tusks and nose slid back into view. "Psst, Simba!" He whispered loudly, peeking slightly around the corner.

"What?" Simba asked at a normal volume.

"Are you gonna be okay?"

"Yeah, Pumbaa, Nala's an old friend, I'm fine."

"Okay," Pumbaa whispered before disappearing. They heard the sound of the two truly leaving.

"Sorry, uh," Simba rubbed his temple with a cringe, "about...you know, pointing a machete at you and stuff."

"No hard feelings. I'm mostly sorry I bruised your sternum."

"I deserved that. But, I think this is yours," he picked up the cash and handed it to her.

"Here," Nigel picked up the machete and held it out, handle-first. "Let's trade."

"Fine by me." Simba toyed with the machete casually, avoiding eye contanct as Nigel pocketed their stipend cash.

"So, um," Nala cocked her head. "Can we talk?"

"...Yeah," Simba nodded reluctantly. "I guess we should probaby do that, huh? But," he glanced over his shoulder. There wasn't a living soul in sight, the fields oddly quiet, with nobody on the dirt path. All the doors and windows of the nearby dwellings were closed. "Not out here."

Author's Note,

Corderbollie [AO3]: Thank you so much! Is it terrible that I've written more for the sequel than I have for this one? I'm having too much fun and got ahead of myself.

Sdiana7 [FFN]: I'm so glad you gave this a chance, and yes, it's the same AU!

TheWriterForGod42 [FFN]: So glad you're invested, I'll update when I can!

SnowyMarble [FFN]: Life has been extremely busy so I don't get to write as much as I used to, but I was able to get this chapter out!

Snowflake888 [FN]: I'm glad you like it, I'll do what I can!

Thank you all for reading!

Cheers!

- Dieren