AN: So screw my leave of absence, this fic is inspiring me right now. And yeah, I know I keep going on and on about how and why Gwizdo and Zoe/Zoria fell out, but for me the explanation is important. I saw the movie before I saw the show, and when I realized that Zoe and Zoria were the same person I was a bit ticked—Gwizdo and Zoe developed a strong, loving friendship over the course of the film, and in the show he doesn't even care when she appears to be dead (granted, Gwizdo IS a jerk, but he seems eager enough to rescue Zaza when she's in danger, and his relationship with Zaza in the show is similar to his relationship with Zoe by the end of the movie). Obviously the show was created first, but it still bugged the crap out of me /rant over/. Also, herein lies my headcanon explanation for Gwizdo's change in eye colour—enjoy, and R&R!
3: The Rich, the Broke, and the Ugly
"If I had more money, honey,
Would you love me, love me, love me?
If I wasn't just somebody
Like me, like me?"
- State of Shock
Zoria circled her prey, her body tense and coiled, her pale blue eyes hard, searching, waiting. She was ready for him, ready for his attack—but she knew this kill required a certain degree of stealth. She was faster than her adversary, and more experienced, but he was stronger and taller and would surely overpower her given the chance. She needed to be smart about this. She glanced down at the sword grasped in her hand and grinned, angling it to catch the sun. Hidebiter's naked blade gleamed in the early morning light—a glint of piercing gold refracting sunbursts into the eyes of Zoria's enemy. He flinched, and with a triumphant cry she leapt at him, thrusting her knee into his gut and sending him toppling to the ground. She brought Hidebiter to rest against his exposed neck and—
"Ow! That's cheating!"
Zoria laughed, sheathing her sword. "It's not cheating if it gets the job done." She extended an arm to the prone Lord and helped haul him back to his feet. "Dead is dead, and you, Mortimer, are dead—again. That's three out of four for me."
He chuckled, returning her impish smile as he brushed golden hair from his eyes. "You most certainly live up to your reputation, Zoria. But that was a cheap trick, distracting me with the light like that. That sort of conduct would never be allowed in a proper duel."
She shrugged. "You don't come across many proper duels in my line of work. If you find a dragon that fights by the rules, you let me know."
"Of course… I forget you aren't accustomed to civilized swordplay." Mortimer quickly realized his mistake and added, "I-I mean, I forget because you're so lady-like already, and—"
Zoria smiled, though his comment had stung, "It's okay. I know I'm hardly genteel. But I am good, you have to admit that."
"Good doesn't even begin to describe it, my dear Zoria," Mortimer's expression softened, and he shortened the distance between them until they were only a couple of inches apart. "You are nothing short of magnificent."
"Flatterer," she said, flushing.
"No, truly," he insisted. "When you fight, you glow. You are radiant, Zoria. Something within you sparks and you become both terrible and beautiful, a sight to behold—I don't know whether I want to run and hide or steal a kiss."
He was blushing too, now. She laughed nervously, feeling pleasant heat rising in her chest.
"Hopefully the second one," she murmured. Was he getting closer, or was that just her imagination? His bangs brushed against her forehead. Okay, not imagination.
"Indeed," he whispered back, and she could feel his breath tickling her lips…
"Zoria! Hey, Zoria!"
The two of them leapt apart, red as beets. Zaza was running towards them. She came to an abrupt stop at their feet, grabbing onto her sister's legs to keep her balance.
"Whoa… Um, I was walking by your room," the little girl said, "and I thought I heard some chirping. I think maybe some birds might've flown in and built a nest in there while you were gone! C'mon, you'd better come look…"
She tugged on Zoria's hand, and the young woman glanced questioningly back at Mortimer. He smiled and shrugged.
"Go on, m'lady," he said. "I don't mind. I'll use the time to brush up on my technique before we attempt another match."
She laughed. "You'd better brush up good, if you don't want to wind up on your back again."
"I assure you, my dear Zoria, by the time I'm through with you, you will be the one on your back."
Zoria blushed again. Mortimer's eyes widened.
"That came out wrong…" he mumbled.
She laughed. "Don't worry about it. I'll be back before you can say 'Smackling'."
As they headed back to the inn, Zaza raised an eyebrow at her big sister. "Zoria, what'd he mean by 'you'll be on your back'? How did that come out wrong?"
Zoria sniggered. "I'll tell you when you're older."
The trip inside turned out to be for naught—Zoria searched her bedroom from floorboards to rafters and found no trace of bird or nest. She couldn't hear the chirping either, but Zaza insisted she keep looking.
"I heard them, I know I did!" the girl said. "I think it was coming from over here… or maybe here…"
Zoria wasted nearly twenty minutes searching that blasted bedroom. When she heard the clatter of plates downstairs, signaling the start of the lunch rush, she gave up in a huff and returned outside to find Mortimer still waiting for her. Zaza didn't protest, but at that point it didn't matter. The moment was past, and though they continued to have fun, the rest of their sparring was utterly devoid of romance.
000
From his vantage point at the desk in front of his, Hector, and Lian-Chu's bedroom window, Gwizdo watched Zoria defeat the lovely Lordling two times, and felt a little better. He couldn't explain the utter loathing he felt for Mortimer, though he was fairly sure it had something to do with his stupid pretty face. Not to mention his manners, and his clothes, and the way he kept referring to Zoria as his dear and m'lady. Gwizdo couldn't hear them outside, of course, but they'd sure been chatting up a storm that morning at breakfast. Their conversation had been all blushes and flirty laughs and oh lordy, lordy it made him sick to his stomach.
"Ooh, look at me," he muttered as the lovebirds prepared for their third sparring match, "I'm Lord Mortimer, an' I'm just so goshdarn perfect. Ooh, Zoria, lemme pull out your chair, lemme cut your food for ya, an' wipe your chin, an' kiss your hand… ugh!"
He threw down his quill, spattering ink across his half-written contract. He couldn't concentrate, not as long as those two were playing happy couple on the grass below.
He'd promised Zaza an old baby dragon's tooth of his if she agreed to spy on Zoria and Mortimer, with the instruction that she was to draw the redhead away with some made-up story should the two start getting too close.
"No hanky-panky on the first date, that's the rule," he'd said. "You gotta keep 'em off each other for at least… I dunno, a few months. Maybe a year."
"Did Mom tell you to say that?" Zaza had asked.
"Nah, but she'll approve. No way she wants grandchildren that fast. Just, ah, don't go tellin' her I got ya to do this, okay, Zaza?"
"My lips are sealed. But how'll Mom get grandchildren if Zoria and Mortimer aren't married yet?"
"I'll tell ya when you're older."
Gwizdo wasn't sure why he'd taken such an instant dislike to Mortimer. Lian-Chu was right—the young Lord had been kind to all of them. There was just something about him though, something that got under Gwizdo's skin. Something about the way he looked, the way he smiled, the way he spoke… Gwizdo didn't trust him. And he most certainly didn't want Zoria fraternizing with such a… such a…
"Tool. He's a tool," he decided, muttering as he took out a clean piece of parchment and prepared to write out the contract anew. "An' Zoria deserves better 'n him."
"I don't agree."
"Gyah!" Gwizdo nearly jumped out of his skin, sending his quill clattering to the floor as he turned to see Lian Chu at his shoulder. "Jeez, big guy, you can't just go sneakin' up on people like that! You almost gave me a heart attack!"
"I don't agree," the giant repeated, ignoring Gwizdo's outburst. "Zoria deserves Mortimer. He's a perfect gentleman—he's kind and polite and respectful to her, and she seems very happy to be around him. I think they're a good match."
"Yeah, you would think so, wouldn't ya?" Gwizdo mumbled. Lian Chu gave him a stern look.
"That's more than I can say about the way you treat her. You're always picking fights with Zoria, and being rude to her, and treating her like the competition instead of a member of the family. She's been like our little sister for ten years, and yet you act as if you don't care about her at all—"
"I do too care about her," Gwizdo snapped. "Of course I care about her; like you said, she's family. But that don't change th' fact that so long as she's in our catchment area, she is competition. May I remind you of our piles o' debt, Lian Chu? We can't exactly afford to have Zoria hangin' around our prospective clients." He bent down to pick up his quill, dipping it in the inkpot again and beginning to write furiously. "Besides, Zoria knows I don't mean half th' things I say to her. Nothin' wrong with a few good-natured jokes at her expense so long as I don't mean 'em, right?"
"Sometimes your jokes can be very hurtful, Gwizdo." Lian Chu took the quill from him, looking the small man in the eye. "And Zoria gets angry with you when you make them."
"It's called banter," Gwizdo snatched the quill back, glaring, "an' it's nothin' Little Miss Mauler can't handle. You know the little smartmouth—she gives just as good as she gets."
Lian Chu frowned. "All the same, you had better stop spying on them. And stop badmouthing Lord Mortimer—I doubt Zoria will take kindly to it."
He left the room, and Gwizdo pinched the bridge of his nose. After a moment's pause, he glanced back out the window, and froze. Zoria and Mortimer were standing toe-to-toe, close enough to touch. Mortimer's head dipped so that his forehead was brushing Zoria's. They were getting closer, mouths inches from each other, and Zaza was cutting across the field towards them but they still weren't moving apart—
Gwizdo breathed out a sigh of relief as they finally separated, jumping back a foot apiece as Zaza barreled into them.
Lordy, lordy, she sure earned that tooth, he thought smugly.
A few moments later, he heard Zoria and Zaza pass by his room. The little girl was babbling something about a bird's nest. Twenty minutes after that, just as the sounds and smells of the lunch rush began wafting up from the dining room below, Zoria stormed past his door—eager to keep her from returning outside, Gwizdo called out to her.
"Hey, Zoria, how's the, uh, date goin'?" The word left a sour taste in his mouth.
She stopped and leaned on the doorframe, smiling. "Well, it'd be going a lot better if my precious baby sister hadn't heard the chirping of invisible birds coming from my room just now… But other than that…" her features softened, and for an instant she was the spitting image of a giddy young bride. "Wonderful."
Gwizdo felt a momentary pang of guilt. What was he doing, trying to keep her and Mortimer apart? Zoria seemed happy, and no matter how little he thought of the young Lord, wasn't Zoria's happiness the most important thing? I mean, look how pretty she is when she smiles like that… He squelched that thought and forced a smile of his own.
"Isn't that nice."
She raised an eyebrow. "Are you okay, Gwizdo? You seem a bit… I dunno, off."
"It's nothin'," he waved a hand. "I'm just, ah, a little hungry. Heh, I think I'll go down an' get some o' that lunch… sure smells good, doesn't it?" He got to his feet and shuffled to the door. As he squeezed past Zoria, she stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.
"Wait," she said softly, and for some strange, inexplicable reason, Gwizdo's heart began to race.
Zoria's brow creased, and she tugged at the edge of his green tunic. There was a snap, and she tossed something over her shoulder. "Loose thread," she explained brightly. "You might want to look into actually doing your laundry for a change—you're starting to look a little threadbare there, Gwizdo."
She gave him a playful nudge and waved goodbye as she traipsed down the stairs and out of sight. Gwizdo's shoulders slumped. His heart slowed to its regular pace. He frowned.
Something pulled on his sleeve, and he looked down to see Zaza smirking up at him and holding out her hand.
"Oh, right," he muttered, reaching into his pocket and placing the dragon's tooth in the girl's palm. "Good job, kid."
"So-o," Zaza said slyly, "are you gonna tell me how come you didn't want Zoria and Mortimer to kiss?"
"I told ya already—"
Zaza huffed. "I know what you said Gwizdo, I wanna know the truth."
"That was the truth, you little pest! Now—now take your tooth and bug off."
"If you say so…" the girl trained her eyes on the ceiling as she took a step forward, hands clasped behind her back. "Just 'cause you told me not to tell Mom about our deal, an' so I figure if she knew, she'd be mad."
"So?"
"So things you do that make her mad are funny. Also Lian Chu just told me you don't like Mortimer for some reason, so I figure somethin' must be up."
Gwizdo scowled at her. Smart girl. "Yeah? And so what if I do? The guy's a tool."
"Zoria likes him okay."
"Zoria doesn't know what's good for her."
"Well, I don't think he's…" Zaza whipped around, eyes wide. "Waitaminute." A look of pure, unadulterated disgust overtook her features. "Ew. EW! Please, no!"
"What?"
"Ew! You're like ten whole years older than her! And you're you!"
"Zaza, what're you talkin' ab—"
"Please, Gwizdo, tell me you don't have a crush on my sister."
Gwizdo actually felt the blood drain from his face. Zaza was staring at him with a mixture of hope and anticipatory revulsion, waiting on an answer. His knees wobbled and his stomach dropped but he kept himself upright.
"No!" he nearly shouted. "No, Zaza, whassa matter with you?"
Zaza looked relieved. "Phew! For a minute there you had me a bit freaked. You're sure, right?"
"Of course I am! What kinda talk is… a crush on… jeez!" Gwizdo stalked past her, stomping down the stairs and glaring straight ahead.
Once at the foot of the stairs, an image of a young Zoria—still Zoe—flashed in his mind. He recalled a long ago dragon fight, one that had occurred while they had attempted to make their way back from Arnold's castle to the End of the World. They'd come across a rare breed, an Oculus Morph—it projected illusions onto inanimate objects in order to distract its prey. Then it snuck up behind and took a bite.
The particular dragon they'd encountered had made a nearby stone look like an injured rabbit. Zoe had gone to investigate, and the Oculus had been just about to pounce when Gwizdo caught sight of it. Lian Chu and Hector had been scouting some territory ahead, and Gwizdo was unarmed—without a second thought, he dove forward, pushing Zoe out of harm's way and sending both of them barreling into a bush. The dragon had glared and sprayed some strange glittering powder out of its nose—again, straight at Zoe. Gwizdo, having placed himself squarely between Zoe and the dragon, caught the blast full in the face. It had knocked him unconscious, but luckily Lian-Chu had arrived back at their camp at that very moment to slay the beast.
That had been the day his eyes had changed colour from brown to blue. Something in the Oculus' powder had altered the pigment—a sort of permanent illusion. That had also been the day he'd realized something—something important. As Zoe thanked him and chattered to the rest of their company about Gwizdo's heroic deeds, the little man became sure, more sure than he'd ever been in his entire life, that he would never let anything happen to that girl. The thought of how close that dragon had come to devouring Zoe… it made him shudder. He vowed that even when he couldn't protect her, he would at least stand by her side.
Of course, he'd balked from that as soon as she made it clear that she didn't need him to do that anymore—as soon as she became Zoria. He'd pushed her away so that he wouldn't care if she got hurt, wouldn't care if something happened to her and he hadn't been there to stop it.
He sighed. Well, nuts to that. Zoe was still in there, darnit, and no matter how he pretended not to worry about Zoria he still had an obligation to the girl. Mortimer was wrong for her, plain and simple. He was too athletic, he was too handsome, he was too rich. He was too everything Gwizdo wasn't. And Gwizdo hated that.
He was simply looking out for Zoria's well being. There was nothing romantic about his intentions. There couldn't be. Zaza was right; he was a decade older than her (well, twelve years, but who was counting?), and he was… him. Pathetic and cowardly, small and poor, ugly and mean. It'd never work, even if he did have feelings for her. Which he didn't. Probably.
He passed by the window to the field—unable to help himself, he snuck a peek. His heart promptly sank.
They looked like they were having fun. Zoria's cheeks were flushed, her smile was broad, and she looked happier than he'd seen her in a long time. She was laughing as she knocked Mortimer to his knees, bringing her sword up to his neck. He was laughing too.
Something hot and ugly writhed in Gwizdo's gut and suddenly he hated Mortimer more than ever. Those two were so wrong for each other… and yet he was the only one who could see it. Why? Why did they have to look so stinking happy? The sight made him want to punch through a wall.
Or cry.
Maybe both.
000
Zoria wiped the sweat off her brow with the back of her gloved hand. Her face was hot, aglow with a thrilling mixture of fatigue and excitement that she hadn't felt in a long time. Not since she was a teenager.
She and Mortimer were setting aside their swords in the stable—he placed his with his saddlebags, she hung hers in the gear cupboard that she shared with Lian-Chu and Gwizdo while at home.
"What was that final score?" she asked, smirking, "Four to six, I believe?"
Mortimer chuckled. "I am humbled by my defeat at your lovely hands, m'lady."
She blushed, adding pleased embarrassment to the list of things that were heating her up—double-entendre not intended. "Yeah, well, you weren't so bad yourself," she said. "For a guy who's only ever fought courtiers, that is."
"You flatter me, Zoria."
"Oh good, you took it as a compliment."
"Only a fool takes offense at a loss. I am honoured to have fought the Mustachioed Lady and lived to tell the tale."
He gave a bow, and Zoria sniggered.
As they made their way out of the stables and back towards the Snoring Dragon proper, Mortimer placed a hand on Zoria's shoulder. She tensed and stopped, turning to face him.
"Zoria," he said quietly, "would it be discourteous of me if I took this moment to… steal that kiss I alluded to earlier?"
Zoria gulped. "Discourteous…?" Kiss…?
"I mean… do you want me to kiss you? The last thing I want to do is make you uncomfortable or unhappy. I—"
"Yes." Zoria's heart was beating so fast it felt as if it were bruising her ribs. "Yes, I want you to kiss me."
Mortimer smiled, and dipped his head, and pressed his lips against hers. His mouth was soft and warm, and Zoria felt her body melt like butter as she fell into the kiss, into his arms. The young Lord held her against his chest as his lips parted and he deepened the kiss. It was a good thing his arms were so strong, because the huntress' knees had rather suddenly turned to jelly.
Zoria's brain was going a mile a minute. A thousand thoughts rattled off as the two young lovers held each other for the first time.
—lordy, my first kiss—am I doing this right—why is he so warm—why am I so warm—so glad we found some privacy—I can taste his spit—so warm—whoa, is that his tongue, what am I supposed to do with that—
When Mortimer pulled away—gently, of course—Zoria's mouth remained open for what felt like an embarrassingly long time. Finally she managed to shut it, and blushed fiercely as the Lord chuckled.
"Shy? I never thought I'd see the day, my Zoria."
"Well, heh, that…" she broke their embrace and rubbed the back of her neck, "I'm not exactly…"
"Experienced?"
Her heart thudded. "Was it obvious?"
Mortimer's expression softened. "Don't worry. It was lovely, I assure you. Though I must admit," he laughed again, "I am pleased to find a field in which I might best you."
Zoria laughed with him, though hers was a tad forced. She wasn't sure how much she liked feeling this exposed—so vulnerable, so… not in control. It made her feel like she was a kid again: alone and untried and being chased by jimbobs through unfamiliar territory. Only this time, she wanted the dragons to catch her. Or at least most of her did.
Mortimer seemed to sense her discomfort. "Should I not have done that?" he asked, his brow creasing.
"No!" she said quickly. "No, no, I wanted you to. I just—it's nothing. Don't worry about it."
"Are you s—?"
"I'm sure." She grinned at him and made to give him a playful nudge—but that reminded her much too much of her earlier encounter with Gwizdo, so at the last minute she swept her arm behind her head and made a show of adjusting one of her pigtails. "Let's go inside, shall we?"
"Yes, let's," Mortimer grinned back.
000
Jeanneline was too happy.
She was sweeping—almost dancing—about the main room, serving customers their dinner with a smile and a flourish. When she reached their table, Gwizdo could've sworn he heard her humming wedding tunes.
"What gives, Jeanneline?" he asked as he dug into his borback loaf. "You're actin' happier 'n a kid on their birthday."
"Oooh, I'm just so happy that my Zoria's finally found herself a nice boy," the innkeeper gushed. "Lord Mortimer is so handsome, and so—"
"Yeah, yeah, handsome, rich, talented, all that good stuff, yadda, yadda, yadda." Gwizdo was sick and tired of thinking about the Snoring Dragon's newest guest. A fact that wasn't helped by the stink-eye that Lord Plink was giving him from where he and Karl sat by the fire. "I still don't see why you hadda give those guys our table."
Jeanneline's expression soured. "I'm not about to treat my honoured guests like bums just because you vant yer seat back," she snapped.
"We understand, Jeanneline," Lian-Chu said soothingly.
"I don't," Gwizdo muttered. The others ignored him.
"Besides," Jeanneline added with a wistful sigh, "I vant to make sure my future son-in-law is as comfortable as possible."
"Son-in-law?" Gwizdo choked. "Jeanneline, they've only been on one date! Dontcha think you should wait a few weeks before you start in with the weddin' plans?" Or better yet, wait forever.
The big woman sniffed. "It's never too early," she said, and pirouetted back into the kitchen.
Zoria and Mortimer entered the room a few moments later, sitting down next to Plink and Karl and looking flustered. Gwizdo eyed them warily as he ate.
"Gwizdo, I was thinking," Lian-Chu said, "we really should look into getting a contract soon. Perhaps we could go out and advertise, like Zoria suggested last night—"
The little man nodded along, eyes still fixed on the young couple across the room. They were sitting a little too close together, their looks a little too tender. Something's definitely up, he thought. Mortimer's hand gravitated towards Zoria's on the tabletop, and Gwizdo's temper flared. His forkful of borback missed his mouth and wound up planted in his cheek.
"—but the farmer told me I couldn't expect to—Gwizdo, are you all right?"
"Couldn't. Be. Better," Gwizdo said through gritted teeth.
"You look… grey. Are you feeling sick?"
Mortimer drew Zoria's hand to his lips. Zoria flushed and giggled. Gwizdo dropped his fork.
"Gwizdo—"
"I'm fine, Lian-Chu, just right as rain!"
"You don't look it. Perhaps you should go to bed early tonight."
"Yeah… perhaps I should."
But Gwizdo made no effort to move. He was almost certain that if he did get up, he'd collapse. He was trembling with something that was akin to anger, but more closely resembled unadulterated misery—he felt as if he were about to burst with it. The truly scary part was that he wasn't sure what would happen if he did.
Luckily, he was spared having to find out. At that moment, the door to the inn burst open, and a young man wearing a blue tunic emblazoned with a gold honeybee crest stepped through. Mortimer leapt to his feet, mercifully releasing Zoria's hand in the process.
"Harvey!" he cried. "What are you doing here, old boy?"
"My lord," the young man panted as he scampered across the room towards Mortimer, "thank heaven I found you!"
"Why, what's the matter? I thought I wasn't expected home for another week."
"You're not, you're not, my lord!" Harvey wrung his hands and began chewing his lip. "Your father, has requested your early and immediate return! And that you bring—oh, bother, I've gotten ahead of myself again. My apologies." He drew a scroll out from some hidden pocket, unrolled it, and cleared his throat.
"His grand splendiferousness, Lord Quincy Ecklestone III of Stutter Island Estate, has made the following request of all able-bodied men far and near!" the man's voice boomed throughout the inn. "If you can boast of prowess on the battlefield and nobility of heart, you are begged to attend to Stutter Island, which has been beset by a ferocious dragon!"
Gwizdo perked instantly.
"This dragon is of unknown name or species," Harvey went on, "and is plaguing the good folk of Ecklestone Castle. Whosoever can destroy this beast shall be paid his weight in gold for the island's liberation. If—"
"My good sir!"
All eyes turned to the little man standing on a table on the edge of the room. His recent miseries forgotten, Gwizdo launched headfirst into the spiel of a lifetime. Harvey's eyes widened as the dragon hunter painted the grisly scene of their last kill, as Lian-Chu posed and menaced the crowd.
When they finished, Harvey applauded. "Oh, fantastic!" he squeaked. "Hunters at last! Lord Mortimer, if you please, I shall saddle up the horses."
"Of course I don't please Harvey. We shall spend but one more night here, and tomorrow we'll leave at first light."
"But Lord Mortimer, your father said—"
"Not another word," the young Lord said firmly. "We must give our hunters time to prepare themselves—and myself a good night's rest before setting out again." He cast a playful glance towards Zoria. "I've been worked hard today."
Defeated, Harvey slumped down next to Lord Plink and took a helping of borback loaf off the simpering noble's plate.
Mortimer walked over to Lian-Chu and Gwizdo and gave them a small bow. "My good hunters, I thank you for offering your services to save my home."
"You're very welcome, sir," Lian-Chu said graciously.
"Yeah, you're welcome," Gwizdo chimed in. Mortimer smiled and turned away to return to his table. "… Welcome to pay us our weight in gold," the smaller hunter muttered. A little louder, he added, "Well, ol' buddy, looks like we'll be sittin' on some hard cash sooner 'n later, huh?"
Lian-Chu smiled. "It certainly looks that way."
"Hoo boy," Gwizdo rubbed his hands together and grinned as he jumped down off the table. "We'll be loungin' in the lap o' luxury in no time at all..."
He caught sight of Mortimer and Zoria linking arms, and his smile stiffened. And maybe, he thought, a malicious gleam in his eye, maybe pretty boy won't look so good to her once we've lightened his pockets a little.
The part of him that pretended he didn't know Zoria clung to that thought. The part of him that knew he did kept its mouth shut.