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Caprice

Chapter VI


So much in shock was he that the doctor did nothing when the much larger body of Lord Eustass curled and toppled down to the floor on top of him. His legs gave out without a hitch and the pressing weight crushed his body into the floorboards beside the bed. The mattress of which would have been much better suited to his poor back.

He sputtered indignantly into the face scant inches above his own. "Im–im–impossible!"

The lord's mouth moved, but as before he made no intelligible comment on their remarkably abnormal situation. Instead, he simply moved his forearms so they covered Dr. Trafalgar's hands, giving him no chance for leverage. He could not even slap some sense into the drugged man.

Then the doctor felt a most peculiar sensation against his clothed thigh. The sensation of skin rubbing up against him. Lord Eustass was positively livid, and not merely with anger.

It showed in the way his snarling lips exposed clenched teeth, and in the way his body rocked and trembled. His eyes, previously so dark and sinister, were now almost an opaque, silky white, the pupils having shrunk to an eighth of their original size.

Dr. Trafalgar resisted the urge to bite into flesh again. The man continued to move against him like a beast in heat, grunting and straining, his tantalizing odour increasing to assault the doctor's sensitive nostrils.

Time ticked by. At last, after what seemed like an eternity in purgatory but what was in actuality scant minutes, the body above shook one final time before going completely limp. Trafalgar panted, his chest trying to lift high enough to get air into his lungs. He was pinned; still, he managed to get his hands free with little difficulty now that the grip around them was lax. Sliding his body out from under the lord was a much more complicated affair that culminated in him kicking and thrashing at the dead weight.

When at length he liberated himself, he leaned back against a wall and caught his breath, fanning air into his nostrils to force the primitive side of himself to focus on something other than the scent of prey. It was absurd, what had come of his innocent taste of the man – if the lord could really be called such. Now more than ever Trafalgar was convinced that the title was a hoax. There was no man that could stand up so intrepidly to his drugs, and not one alive that could stomach even a drop of his serum. Even though the saliva that leaked from his lips was far weaker than the bottled sort that he allowed to sit and putrefy into precipitate, the man should not have been able to act as he had.

Picking himself up, the doctor felt a rather wet spot against his slacks and was appalled to realize he would have to clean the essence of the lord off of him. He rubbed the majority of it out with his piece of bloody linen, then set about to flip the body over. It sapped much of his strength, and he was amazed to see the lord had finally succumbed to his drugging and was blissfully unconscious.

After a moment's deliberation he covered the man with the blanket from the bed and took his leave before he could be tempted to do any more experimentation. He simply needed his space to think over the symptoms of an unknown pedigree.

He exited through a window downstairs. Getting into a home was a problem, but getting out was something he was proficient at. He passed by the stables, stopped, then went back to steal his saddle that he'd left behind during his last visit. He found it in a room filled with tack, along with Bepo's old bridal. He located his beast down by the stream, by this time dried off and amusing himself by rolling pebbles between his massive bearish paws. When Bepo saw the saddle, he changed them to coal black hoofs and straightened up.

Then he sniffed the air surrounding his master.

"I smell something on you…"

"A most unfortunate circumstance befell me, Bepo."

"You smell like another male has mounted and had you," Bepo snarled, terribly confused.

Trafalgar sighed and rubbed at his sore eyes. Nothing passed by a beast with a powerful nose. "He was quite adamant about pinning me down. He is certainly like no human I've had the pleasure of bedding. But rest assured, my bearish friend, that he did not take me."

He saddled his steed and swung up onto Bepo's back, muscles aching. Perhaps it would be best to take the day off tomorrow. But, alas, he had to put in an appearance at that social gathering of Duchess Jewelry's.

-oOo-

He had forgotten about Duchess Jewelry's event. Even before Lord Portgas met the woman, he resented her for taking him away from Marco's doting presence. He woke up having to reschedule pleasures for a formal social event.

"Marco, my friend, please prepare the tamer of our two horses."

"My Lord, don't you wish to make a noble impression with the phaeton?"

Lord Portgas chuckled, placing a hand over his eyes to conceal their rolling. "That beast of mine can't keep pace with that mare. He's much too wild. The only admirable thing about him hitched to a carriage is how he carries his head high. The bearing rein is thus obsolete for my steed."

Marco quitted the drawing room to saddle the mare and left Lord Portgas to his own devices. The lord had chosen to set up an easel and his paints, regardless of not being able to do the work today. He wanted it to be a constant reminder to his valet that he was indeed quite excited to get on with it, brushes at the ready in his hand.

"The horse has been prepared for you, my Lord," Marco said upon his return. Lord Portgas bid him a polite farewell, lingering longer in the doorway than could be deemed necessary, and then departed.

The mare was slow moving and certainly not the most graceful of creatures, and when he arrived at the estate of Duchess Jewelry he found more people than he thought in attendance. His presence was all but forgotten and his horse attended to by a stable hand.

He slunk through the crowds. Had he known it was going to be a ball of this magnitude, he wouldn't have given his ascent to come. As it was, he was here already and needed to greet his host with all the civilities that the occasion entailed.

First, however, Dr. Trafalgar found him with a wry smile and a glass of wine.

"Drink this for me, would you?" he asked of his friend. "A servant forced it upon me, I suspect by threats issued by Miss Jewelry, and you know I can't stomach this fermented ick."

Lord Portgas took the glass and angled it bottom up. When he was finished he set the glass down on a nearby ledge and blinked at all the splendour of the mansion belonging to the Duchess. All of a sudden everything was brighter, grander, and his nose picked up a multitude of scents too numerous to categorize. "This is a impressive place, full of delicious smelling food."

"Oh, I'm sure you'll enjoy yourself. Miss Jewelry encourages gluttony, as you may have heard."

"What are you insinuating, Trafalgar?

"Nothing, nothing at all, Portgas."

They gradually made their way across one room and into the next, moving through the crowds of people whenever an opening arose. Many times Lord Portgas was stopped by a friendly exclamation of surprise. People were eager to meet the newly settled lord, and some of his oldest acquaintances from when he was but a boy gaped at his growth and maturity. He was made the associate of many, though whether he could remember their details later was an entirely different matter.

After choosing to dance with a fair young woman who ogled him, testing out his theory that his desires lay not with bosoms but with someone his equal in biological makeup, Lord Portgas reclined on a sofa. He was content to observe his friend stepping in line with a few different women, spinning each one off of his arm before catching another. It was absolutely ludicrous how well that man deceived the hearts and eyes set upon him. The charming smile, never absent from his face for long, and his dark eyes drew people in.

Before enough time had passed to invite boredom, a woman with a curtain of flowing ebony hair approached him. "Lord Portgas," she said by way of greeting.

"Robin! I had thought you'd quitted Sabaody altogether," the lord responded with surprise.

"Not yet. I'm still in the process of… deciding a few things of utmost importance. Hasn't the good doctor informed you?"

"He hasn't spoken a word of you yet, my dear. And as for whether or not he could really be termed 'good' is a debatable matter."

Robin elegantly sat herself down beside him on the sofa, smoothing out her shimmering black dress. The eyes of many women in the room without partners narrowed at her. "Mr. Zoro tells me he is quite acquainted with that headstrong brother of yours, Monkey D. Luffy, the scourge of the navy. I had not known that before meeting Mr. Zoro."

"Oh? Luffy?"

Robin smiled as his interest shifted from merely listening to her words as he stared at the festivities to gracing her with his full attention.

"He's gathering his crew. I plan on joining him. So far he has a mason who happens to be experienced with shipbuilding, a musician, Mister Zoro for his First Mate, and a petty thief who may very well be lurking in this manor gathering jewels for the voyage ahead. We also seek a cook, but that is why I am in attendance tonight. Following a trail of rumours about a chef with more talent than the best in France has led me to a certain Mr. Blackleg, whom I understand is employed by the duchess to cater to her every whim and desire."

"Well, then," Lord Portgas muttered with a low whistle. "The best of luck to you all. Send my brother by, if it is at all possible. I know he can sometimes…attract unwanted attention from both the militia and navy, and I don't fancy a meeting with that old vice-admiral, Garp."

"You have a history with him?" Miss Nico enquired politely.

Lord Portgas laughed mirthfully. Those that knew him at the duchess' get-together knew him from his relationship to Garp, the man who sporadically took part in his upbringing. "Oh, we do have a history, if it can be called that. He and I are at our wits end with one another. It is not something I enjoy discussing."

"I see. The same holds true for Luffy, though he handles it all with the greatest humour." Robin gracefully rose to her feet and curtsied. "Well, Ace, I daresay this may be the last you see of me, unless the good doctor puts on a tea party as he occasionally endeavours to do. Farewell and good luck in your efforts with your valet."

Lord Portgas startled but could not form coherent thoughts to share before Robin waltzed away in a swath of black fabric, disappearing into the crowd of nobles and flushed servants. He settled when he realized that it was likely that his friend had informed her idly during tea, not aware that he wished to keep the matter hushed.

He set out to find Trafalgar, intending to make his friend simmer under fiery words, and found him near a group of dignitaries that were gawped at by almost everyone in the room. He thought it would be indecorous to simply appear in front of the party without having been formally introduced, but the lady of the manor caught his eye and brightened considerably, starting for him instead.

He remained where he was as the duchess strode up in a pink, green, and white gown that sparkled in the candlelight of overhead chandeliers. Atop her head was a rather – in Lord Portgas' opinion, which certainly never amounted to much when it came to fashion – unflattering headdress. It was turban in nature and certainly looked out of place for the occasion. Not that he would slip this up in conversation.

"You must be Mr. Gol, head of the Gol estate," she stated cheerily as she stopped in front of him and curtsied. Her group straggled behind, whispering amongst themselves, highly curious about her attentiveness to a broad-shouldered man most had never seen around before.

"Portgas, in all actuality," the lord replied tersely. He remembered her letters, and how they had addressed him wrongly. He just thought it would be too rude to correct her in writing. It was better done in person. "I am indeed the lord residing at the Gol estate."

"Oh," she coloured a bit, but recovered just as quick. "Well, either way I welcome you to Sabaody, Mr. Portgas. I hope you're finding everything… exquisite."

The lord did not miss the flutter of eyelashes in his direction. He almost let out an audible scoff at the flirtatious behaviour of this woman, but he was distracted by all those who were trailing her, Trafalgar included.

"This is Bege A. Capone," she said next of a portly man who was smoking a thick cigar. His suit was the colour of ash and his eyes were seedy, and the lord guessed that his personality was likewise. "He manages the cavalry units and infantry in Sabaody's militia, and holds a fortress to the west of here in Elbafshire. I believe he has other duties, but he won't tell a soul." She giggled, but Lord Portgas could guess at her irritation with the man, whom so obviously was not a favourite acquaintance of hers. The only reason the lord could conceive that she'd introduced him first was to scorn him in an artful manner.

He nodded politely at the man, who glared evenly back at him and did not stay to wait for the other introductions to be made, politely excusing himself from the premises.

"My dearest friend, Mr. Hawkins, is quite fond of playing cards. Aren't you, Basil?"

The man in question, a stately fellow who appeared aloof and above all that was going on in the material world, looked down at the duchess with quietly expressed dissatisfaction at her words. Then he shifted his mellowed eyes to the lord in front of him. "I am a great believer in cartomancy, Lord Portgas. Perhaps you will attend a session with me later in the evening, or at the earliest convenience to you. The cards say…" the man pulled a deck of tarot cards from his pocket, shuffled them, and drew one. "They say it would be most beneficial to your health."

Lord Portgas murmured that he would, with no intention of going through with the arrangement. He got an ominous ambiance from Mr. Hawkins that he did not want to pursue even in the privacy of his thoughts. There was something otherworldly about him that Portgas regarded as a warning flag. No doubt the vampire standing adjacent to him felt it as well.

The introductions were halted when a servant attempted to scurry past with a dish of delectable cheeses and meats. The duchess cried out and bid the servant to stop with the most demanding and irritable tone Lord Portgas had ever heard. The lord caught the eye of his friend, who merely smirked and lowered his gaze to avoid bursting into gales of laughter.

Duchess Jewelry passed the dish about, offering the cheese and meat cuts, but everyone declined. Lord Portgas found this bizarre and followed their example, even though his stomach cried out fiercely. Soon he was witness to an empty tray.

Ah. That was what Trafalgar had meant by gluttony within the household.

"This is the local physician and surgeon, Trafalgar Law. He is something of a pompous fool and undesirable company with–"

"We are well acquainted," the doctor interjected. The duchess blinked indignantly and physically waved his words off with the back of her pale hand. Already he could tell his friend was not favoured by the duchess, but merely tolerated and likely kept around for appearances only. After all, the noblewomen who were responsible to keep the duchess' status high admired the elegance and propriety of the doctor.

"No matter. Have you met Admiral X. Drake?" Lord Portgas turned his attention to a sour-faced man with a scar in the shape of crossed blades on his chin. Drake appeared composed and entirely serious, with a sharp eye for details. Yet, Lord Portgas felt he was perhaps the only one in the group that would get along with both himself and Trafalgar. It was a strange feeling that was likely owed to their mutual naval background. Drake nodded at him politely, but refrained from speaking more than a few obligatory words.

The party soon dispersed further when both Hawkins and Drake moved off, and Lord Portgas found himself in the company of only the doctor and duchess. It was clear from the signals the duchess sent to Trafalgar that she wanted him gone as well, yet the doctor wasn't about to abandon something that could turn into an amusing spectacle.

"Mr. Portgas, is this not a sensational event?" Jewelry asked of him, looking around at a few dancing couples with a smile.

He murmured his concurrence with her, but it was the doctor that leaned in to his friend at the first opportunity to say, "It is positively staid, wouldn't you agree?"

As soon as the duchess turned to snatch another plate of food and shovel it down her bulging gullet, Lord Portgas muttered back that it was, indeed, a rather trite affair they had mistakenly chosen to attend.

"Tell me, Mr. Portgas, do you have an interest in hunting? My grounds are open for your pleasure, should you choose to pay me a visit."

"I have no interest in hunting," the lord returned.

"Fishing, perhaps?"

"None whatsoever," the lord lied. Beside him, Trafalgar snickered and absently picked Bepo's white fur from his black garb.

"Perhaps you ought to ask him if he wishes to spend time with y–"

The duchess immediately interrupted the doctor. "Trafalgar, would you be a dear and fetch me some wine from that servant across the room? I'm quite thirsty."

A twitch of the eyebrow was all the lord could see of Trafalgar's irritation at been ordered around like a common servant, and the lord was sure that the man would not agree to it. However, he seemed to see greater amusement could come of leaving Lord Portgas in the company of the duchess, and dolefully removed himself with a smirk that rapidly encompassed the lower regions of his face.

When he was out of earshot and pursued doggedly by noblewomen who'd been awaiting an opening to his attentions, the duchess moved in closer to the lord and placed herself in an intimate position, close to his shoulder. "Mr. Portgas, is it true of your servitude in the navy?"

"It is certainly true, though I'd sooner like to deny it."

She pursed her lips, recognizing the touchy subject, and took the conversation elsewhere. They spoke at length of the room, its occupants, the food and drink, yet all of the lord's answers were short and wearied. However, the duchess was in no way deterred.

At last, Lord Portgas asked bluntly, "Duchess, what have I done to earn your cloying affections?"

She appeared shocked at his frankness, but her recovery was swift. "I only wish to make you feel comfortable in Sabaody! I assume you don't know a great many people here, and I can introduce you to anyone in the room–"

She continued speaking, but Lord Portgas had cut off her voice from his ears to stare at some fixed point behind her. It was a painting that had caught his attention, an oil of a full-rigged vessel sailing on a multitude of waves as rugged as a mountain range.

"That painting," he interrupted suddenly as she was going on about dukes and duchesses to the south of Sabaody, "is it of the famous Moby Dick?"

She stuttered incoherently, positively miffed by his words, then spun and regarded the work done up in oils. "Oh? You know of the Moby Dick? Of the infamous and wonderful Whitebeard?"

Lord Portgas shrugged his shoulders, having never intended to go into a conversation with her. "I have heard of his endeavours to cut off slavers and take people from the plantations to places across the sea where they wouldn't be thrown into forced labour. I'm more interested in the painting as an article, however. Would you be willing to part with it? I shall pay your asking price, whatever it shall be."

Jewelry Bonney pursed her rouged lips. "Oh, I don't believe I can sell that. It is an irreplaceable piece."

"That is a shame," Lord Portgas said with due disappointment that he could see made the duchess' skin crawl with discontent. "I would have loved to own it."

"I have many paintings within this house. Perhaps you'd like to take a tour with me," the duchess offered, brightening at her own ingenious suggestion.

He shook his head. "I am afraid only that one's content interests me."

Now he was agitating her nerves. She looked between him and the painting she was so fond of, and at last relented. "It's not often that a guest of mine is interested in that painting…if you would truly like to own it, then perhaps I could soften my heart enough to allow you to have it. Are you still interested?"

Lord Portgas blinked at her, and forced a smile onto his face. Originally, he had planned to buy the painting for Marco, as he could see even from afar it was a work by the artist Silvers Rayleigh, whose paintings dominated the room Marco favoured most. Now he was unsure that getting involved in any way with the glutton would be wise.

Yet the painting called to him in a way he was unable to explain and made him answer, "I am still entirely interested in it, yes."

The reaffirm of the former offer encouraged the duchess, and she marched him up to the painting, taking his arm snugly as if intending to never let him go. She said, "Consider it yours. I'll have it personally delivered to your estate. You can expect me in two days' time. I have business until then to attend to. Please, do not worry about paying a cent, consider it my pleasure."

It took two hours and an enticing platter of roasted goose to loosen Duchess Jewelry's grip on his arm so he could make his escape.

-oOo-

After Trafalgar had his fun laughing from afar as Lord Portgas bumbled his way through conversation with the duchess, he retired to the gardens outside the home. The peace allowed by a lack of bodies and their various scents was soothing. He could still hear the pianist's music drifting out the windows, but the conversations had collectively dulled and were no more than a droll under the sweet notes.

It was strolling here in the gardens that he noticed a wave of red streaking through the duchess' fields. He squinted and made out a man on the back of a muscled bay charger. He knew who it was instantly and placed himself on display by sitting candidly near a fountain on the seat of a painted wicker bench.

The bay horse was redirected sharply and spurred in his direction.

He didn't move as it galloped up, frothing at the mouth from the hard run it had been subjected to. Lord Eustass dismounted amide the tired attempts of the horse to put additional distance between itself and both men. With more force than was needed, he guided his beast to a sturdy post and securely tied down the bridle's reins. The charger, a magnificently bred stallion, could barely lift its head high enough to give a tug to its binds.

"I'm afraid you've either broken that horse's wind or have come damnably close," the doctor commented as the lord stalked up with a sour expression on his face.

"I have not forgotten what it was that you did last night," Eustass informed him with a growl that agitated his steed that was a few paces off now, dancing on the tips of its hooves. As the lord came up to stand a few feet away from Trafalgar, he continued, "Nor have I revoked my earlier assertions to killing you."

"I am surprised you are fit to ride much less trot about like a pompous wolfhound guarding a castle," the doctor continued, ignoring the man's words in favour of watching the terrified horse. "I must make note of that when I return home."

"Don't denigrate me," snarled the lord, rage contorting the muscles in his neck. "Aren't you in the least afraid of being destroyed, bloodsucker? Do the people inside know what you are?"

"They do not. But I dare say they wouldn't believe you anyway – some man who has suddenly appeared with no prior credentials, only the temperament of a bull surrounded by cows in heat." He watched the lord's skin darken in shade with anger, and chose to further his assault. "I cannot help but notice that you are wary of engaging me. Prior to this, you were much more assertive. Are you worried of my insatiable appetite, or your own?"

Heavy breathing suppressing angry words was to be his answer.

"Mister Eustass, I am quite through analyzing you for your grandfather. You are an incurable beast. Won't you be a dear boy and tell him I won't be coming by to see you anymore?"

"That man is dead."

This genuinely surprised Dr. Trafalgar. "Really now? And when did this happen?"

Dark red eyes gleamed at him and a smile appeared on the lord's face. "Funny you should ask that, doctor." The word was spat, literally, upon the dirty ground. "It happened quite accidentally in a fit of absolute delirium that I believe was brought about by your drugs."

Trafalgar gulped as the implications became clear to him. "You killed him?"

A laugh. Deeper and darker than the Boin forest during the witching hour. "I have a murderous desire. From this, my elder has been trying to protect himself…but last night you unleashed a beastly intimation for death. Only you can be to blame, not I."

"I shall vehemently argue that declaration."

After a few seconds, Lord Eustass appeared thoughtful rather than murderous. "I feel I should thank you, however. His presence was rather vexatious. He was old, yet he just wouldn't die."

Trafalgar continued to stare, turning over the consequences of his late night visit that had ended in a death after all of his meticulous plotting to assure otherwise. He kept his eyes firmly fixed upon the lord in front of him who stood with his hands shoved into a furred coat that made him appear twice as large as usual, and noticed that there was a peculiar aura coming off of Lord Eustass, now the only master of the Eustass estate. Something that had not been there before in his composure was at now present and thriving.

"There is a portentous quality to this meeting between you and I that I cannot even begin to comprehend," Dr. Trafalgar said smoothly despite his unease. "What really brings you to me, Mister Eustass?"

The pause was not extensive. "The nature of our last meeting."

"I had not intended to feast on you, though it was a delightful experience up until your nearly comatose body landed upon mine."

"That was your own damned fault and I take no responsibility for it." He narrowed his eyes at the doctor, and the straining veins in his forehead stood out starkly, the light catching his visible ire. "I command you, by some means, to retract the attraction I have for you at once."

This put Trafalgar's eyebrows up to his hairline. "What? An attraction?"

"The drug. Don't play coy, you worthless, demonic fuck. It still afflicts me and I fully realize I cannot kill you until you give me the cure," Lord Eustass continued, impatient. "After all, it's hard to know whether curses will come out of killing you when I'm weakened like this." His fingers were removed from the pockets of his coat and he occupied himself by clenching them into a fist, stretching them out, and then repeating the process. Extremely volatile movements, Trafalgar noted with dry humour.

Slowly the doctor opened his mouth, then closed it, allowing himself an additional minute to think his words through before they reached the ears of one so quick to excite into violence. The purpose of the drug he administered by needle had been to induce a state of lethargy in his patient, not sexual arousal. Yet it seemed the man had decided the latter was what afflicted him presently.

Very carefully, Dr. Trafalgar said, "I am not the one at fault here."

Nostrils flared.

"Don't try my bloody patience, doctor. It's wearing thin as it is."

"What's stopping you from attacking me then?" the doctor asked coquettishly. He had a few guesses, one of which stood out amongst the rest. "Is it because you are afraid that what your body may want from me will overpower what your mind desires? Are you afraid of repeating your illicit actions from last night? Hmm?"

Dr. Trafalgar did not know why he was getting so much pleasure from seeing Lord Eustass squirm; he did know, however, that the second the lord snapped all pleasure drained away from his face only to be replaced by a sudden feeling of terror.

He tried to bolt, knowing that he could likely outrun the lord, but his uptake was sluggish. He only got as far as the fountain when the man launched his bearish body at him, tackling his back, and sending them both over the mottled rock wall into surprisingly deep water.

Trafalgar, gasping as the wind was knocked from his lungs, took in mouthfuls of stale water whilst he sunk with a heavy body atop him. Clawed fingers were ripping into the wet fabric of his coat, tearing it away, and he surfaced coughing and choking all at once. A hand was on his neck with killing intent, and another was compressing his chest, preparing to crush ribs. Their grapple continued above the waterline and his back was thrown up upon the marble decal in the center of the fountain, a naked woman bearing her front proudly. Amid blinding pain he thrashed and kicked, but the lord was livid and any attempts to disengage him were petty compared to the attempts to dismember his squirming body.

Trafalgar howled, extremely displeased to the point of being angry. The emotion was ludicrous. He was never angry. Anger was something of a weakness, a lack of control. He was not weak. He would remain calm. Use his learned intelligence.

Both bodies shifted as Trafalgar slid down the curve of the marble woman's physique, and Lord Eustass let go of the doctor's neck to grab for his chest, hoping to pin him again lest he gain control of his feet. But Trafalgar was already in motion, clutching the back of the lord's head, fingers twisting in that lion's mane of red. He yanked that head back, exposing all of the lord's thick neck to his open mouth and bared fangs.

He forced himself to stomach the taste of stale fountain water as he bit down on the skin of Lord Eustass' windpipe, breaking into it smoothly with his powerful jaw.

Blood flowing freely now, all hell broke loose in the fountain.


A.N.: Traffy, when is it ever a good idea to bite a madman?

Anyways, the beginning was odd, and we have some characters everyone recognizes introduced in this chapter. They will come back, but not until later.

As always, thank you all for the wonderful reviews! They really do make my day (they are such pick-me-ups on those days when I think everything is going horribly, haha). :)