Here's the long-awaited Chapter 3. Sorry it took so long. I don't even have good reasons/excuses. Other than a PHYSICS test (which I did quite well on the first part and spectacularly failed at the second part) and a MATH test (which I did really well on). Of course, the downside was that I completely skived off on the homework and didn't do a lot of it. However, I'm maintaining a high B and plan to get full points on all the homework. My other classes are manageable. That or they're sitting quietly in the corner plotting my downfall. Unfortunately the latter is more likely. Spanish is evil, or rather the teacher continuously fails to provoke a positive emotional response from me and I should never be allowed to be that disinterested in a class that matter. Ceramics is awesome but I suck with deadlines (which is closely relating to the amount of titchy little details I should be known for).
But now I have a week long break and I intend to WRITE.
Warnings for the chapter: Normal Teenage Drama, verbose!Winry, Physics-ness, and depressive!Ed.
Disclaimer: I don't own AIM (I just have it installed), I don't own Conceptual Physics 10th edition by Paul G. Hewitt from which the two or three problems are taken from (pages 71-72 were used) but I don't think he'd sue me (mainly because he's slightly nutty, whether it's from too much physics or old age is unknown).
--incipio--
I wait for Mom to pick me up in front of the school. People are gathered in groups, happily talking in the bright sunshine. I tap my foot. Ling's already left, and so have Winry and Russell. Al and Fletcher are working on a group project at some person's house.
I glance at my watch. It's three-thirty and Mom's late.
Someone laughs loudly and I flinch. I listen for the mention of my name or the sound of a faked stutter. Nothing. Nothing, that I can hear anyway. Winry would accuse me of jumping to conclusions and tell me off for being "so egotistical as to think you're the only person getting made fun of." She'd be right, if she hadn't been referring to when TJ Elliot and Seth Coachran, from the football team, were pretending to stutter.
It didn't last long though, the teasing. Winry likes to think it had something to do with the extremely public way Sloth refused to accept Seth's invitation to lunch. Sloth wouldn't have gone out with Seth anyway. He's far too freckled.
Besides, why would TJ stop just because Sloth spurned Seth? They aren't that close. There's no way that they would have gotten the point from that incident alone, Seth and TJ aren't that smart. I think the subsequent blacking of both Seth and TJ's eyes had a lot more to do with the sudden end to teasing than anything Sloth did.
Mom pulls up. Finally.
I walk over, open the door, and get in.
"Are you okay?" she asks, looking duly concerned. I scowl and cross my arms.
"No."
Silence.
For once she doesn't say anything. I stare out the window as the houses flash by. I sigh. I hate stuttering. Maybe it'd be better if people like Mr. Grand and Ms. Douglas weren't so horrible about or nobody teased me about or if people were willing to wait for me to finish. But no one's that patient. In fact, out of all the people I know, only four will wait for me.
Dad.
Al.
Izumi.
Sloth.
And Envy I suppose. We haven't talked much, but he's never finished my sentences for me or interrupted me. He's also never teased me about my stuttering or even made a comment on it. It's like he's lived with a stutterer before or something.
Not like that's possible or anything. Everyone would know if one of the Peccato kids stuttered. And while Gluttony's definitely odd, he doesn't stutter.
When I get home, I grab a cookie from the container and a glass from the cupboard. I fill the glass with water, and flee to my room. All this without a word from Mom. No questions about my day or classes. If I wasn't so upset, this would actually be nice.
When I get to my room, I turn on the computer and wait for it to boot up. As I wait, I dig through my pack and look for the stupid hand-out we were given in history. It's going to be a miracle if we ever get anything done on the brochure, let alone the presentation. I sigh. I suppose it could be worse. After all, I still could be stuck with Grand as a teacher.
I sign on AIM.
LuminousLight is online and listening to the Decemberist song Here I Dreamt I Was An Architect. I roll my eyes. Sometimes, I think Dad tries too hard to be ironic.
LuminousLight: Hey Ed.
Stutterbug: I hate my life.
LuminousLight:What happened?
Stutterbug: My counselor is evil. Mr. Grand hates me.
LuminousLight: Oh.
LuminousLight: Care to explain?
Stutterbug: No.
LuminousLight: Ed.
Stutterbug: Fine. I blocked in the presentation. He let me quit early, instead of spending the rest of the five minutes standing up in front of the class. Of course, I also failed it. Again. Then my counselor didn't want me to drop French.
LuminousLight: Why'd you take it if you hate it?
Stutterbug: I didn't want to. I was going to take Speech, but things happened. It was either that or Speech and Debate. I did French. Anyway, she practically made me stutter. Sloth ended up 'rescuing' me.
LuminousLight: Sloth Peccato?
LuminousLight: The one whose mother is Dante Peccato.
LuminousLight: The one Winry says likes you?
Stutterbug: No, the other Sloth.
LuminousLight: and…
Stutterbug: and I got my schedule switched.
LuminousLight: What's it like now?
Stutterbug: Pre-calc is the same.
Stutterbug: Physics with Dr. Knox
Stutterbug: AP English with Kärki
Stutterbug: History's the same
Stutterbug: Speech (obviously)
Stutterbug: and then Ceramics hasn't changed either.
LuminousLight: Ah. I see.
LuminousLight: Anything else?
Stutterbug: well…
LuminousLight: what?
Stutterbug:
Stutterbug: Promise you won't tell Mom or Al?
LuminousLight: cross my heart.
Stutterbug: Okay so there's this guy. But he dresses like a girl. He even wears skorts and stuff.
LuminousLight: nylons?
Stutterbug: NO!
Stutterbug: Anyway, he also has really long hair. It's green.
LuminousLight: Yes…and…
Stutterbug: He's the one who danced with me in PE last year, he also gave me a backrub today
LuminousLight: did you like it?
Stutterbug: You know me! Backrubs are my weakness… and he's really good at them. He also touched my rear today.
LuminousLight: as in a pat, rub, massage, caress, clutch, bump…
Stutterbug: I don't want to know where you came up with idea for listing massage. But no, it was most of a really light touch. He was getting up and I was too. He had to go since he was ditching PE.
LuminousLight: Please tell me you're not seducing freshmen.
Stutterbug: EWW! No, he's a junior! I'm not even sure why he's in PE. But it was a quick little touch.
LuminousLight: Are you trying to come out to me?
Stutterbug: No! Well, maybe. Am I?
LuminousLight: You tell me.
Stutterbug: The point is, I--it felt not unpleasant. But it's only because he looks so much like a girl right? I'm not gay. He's just confusing my hormones, right? Any guy would have liked it?
LuminousLight: You, Edward the Asexual, have hormones?
Stutterbug: Yes I do, as a matter of fact. I just keep them under control.
LuminousLight: You're sure you're a teenager? Not just a midget adult?
LuminousLight: But consider the following:
Stutterbug: Don't quote Bill Nye!
LuminousLight: Ed, while your body can't tell whether the hand that's caressing your ass is male or female, your mind can. Most straight males would be uncomfortable around this guy and wouldn't talk to him, much less accept a back rub. You on the other hand…
Stutterbug: Yes?
LuminousLight: Don't.
Stutterbug: What's that supposed to mean?
LuminousLight: As curious as I am to discover the amount of damage my chances of ever having grandchildren have taken, I have work to do.
LuminousLight has signed off.
I glare at the computer screen. I'm still confused and it doesn't help that whenever I think about the conversation with Envy I get a stupid tingle in my stomach. The tingle that is notably absent when I think about Sloth squeezing my hand.
Envy's caressing of my ass is best left unmentioned.
But the theoretical reaction would a tingle in a slightly lower organ.
Not that it happened, because I didn't think about his hand in relation to my ass.
And starting research on the religions of Pennsylvania would probably be a bit more constructive than wallowing in denial.
Just as I type "religions in colonial Pennsylvania" into the Google search engine, the AIM window flashes orange.
WinryTheRiveter has signed in.
I sigh. I'm not going to get any work done now. Winry's going to want to talk, though it's more like vent, about Russell, the upcoming girl-ask-guy dance, and now Sloth. The first two aren't uncommon. In fact, she's been obsessed with Russell in relation to the TWIRPS dance ever since we were freshmen. She's been obsessed with him for longer. I think that it started in junior high. Al argues that it started much early, possibly in fifth grade. Fletcher says that Russell first became aware of it in eighth grade. Russell sorta twitches whenever the subject is brought up, so no one knows when he thinks Winry's obsession started.
As for Winry. Well, she just throws hard metal stuff at my head when even I ask her.
WinryTheRiveter: how goes it?
I think just accidentally came out to my father and I might be gay or bi. All I know for sure is that I'm attracted to Envy, who gives excellent back rubs, much more than I am to Sloth. I screwed up my Humanities presentation. Grand gave me an F and implied that he had done so on other occasions. My counselor is an evil woman who practically tried to make me stutter.
I don't actually type that. That would be more than extremely embarrassing. And Winry would probably just go on about how I need to be more positive or something.
Stutterbug: I hate my life.
WinryTheRiveter: ed, your supposed to think positively
Stutterbug: Kind of hard when my counselor hates me.
WinryTheRiveter: oh yeah, how'd your meeting go.
Stutterbug: Horrible. She tried to convince me to stay in Humanities and she didn't believe I had a stutter even when I started stuttering.
WinryTheRiveter: how is that possible?
Stutterbug: I don't know. I guess she thought I had some disorder like Tourette's or I was playing some sort of joke on her.
WinryTheRiveter: That's horrible! how did she become a counselor anyway?
Stutterbug: I have no idea.
WinryTheRiveter: so what's your schedule?
Stutterbug: Not that much different. I have Physics 2nd period, AP English 3rd, and then Speech. Everything else is the same.
WinryTheRiveter: nice your going to love Kärki. He's so cool.
Stutterbug: Right. What are we doing in that class anyway?
WinryTheRiveter: umm. We're just reading Dante's Inferno. We're covering the sins of the she-wolf and stuff.
Stutterbug: which would be?
WinryTheRiveter: uhhh. Incontenince or something like that.
Stutterbug: Incontinence?
WinryTheRiveter: yeah that word. It's just stuff like hoarders and wasters and stuff. I think they get stuck in a bog or something and they're doomed to play tugawar forever. It's something to do with the whole Allegory thing and they were opposites in life so yeah. At least, that's what I think we talked about today.
Stutterbug: Oh.
WinryTheRiveter: yeah. its really confusing and it has chapters. Even though it's a poem.
Stutterbug: Interesting. So have you started researching demographics yet?
WinryTheRiveter: No. I'm trying to forget about the stupid group project. Ugg. Its just so stupid. I mean, we did the exact same thing in jr. high. And I don't see why sloth had to be in our group. We were fine without her. She can't take a hint either.
Stutterbug: What do you mean? Russell did ask her to sit down.
WinryTheRiveter: yes but she didn't have to sit on his desk. Anyway don't you find it strange.
No, what I find odd is when a girl hides weapons in her BRA. That's a whole lot stranger than sitting on a desk. Typing that would be suicide.
Stutterbug: No.
WinryTheRiveter: so has anyone asked you to the dance yet?
Stutterbug: No. It's in November. That's a ways away. But speaking of being asked, have you asked Russell yet?
WinryTheRiveter: Stop it ed.
Stutterbug: I don't see why you won't ask him.
WinryTheRiveter: That doesn't mean you can bring it up any time you like. And would it hurt to use a bit of discretion? You should at least consider other people's feelings. Bringing that up like in the car this morning was really cruel.
Stutterbug: What are you talking about? I was just teasing you. I didn't mean anything. It was just a joke.
WinryTheRiveter: You are so stupid! I didn't mean me, I meant LING! He's your best friend and teasing me about Russell in front of him like that was just plain mean Ed. Mean and cruel. He already thinks I like Russell and he doesn't need you throwing it in his face at every opportunity. You are just so ergh!
WinryTheRiveter has signed off.
I stare at the computer screen. A million emotions are running through my head. I suppose it was mean, but it was just a joke. And it wouldn't be any worse if Winry asked Russell, right? Ling would still be upset, right? I don't bring it up all the time. And she's almost as bad, she's always talking about Russell and crushing on him.
She's not his best friend though.
I have no excuse for that.
God, I HATE it when Winry's right.
How did she even know that Ling liked her? They don't have any classes together, so she couldn't have seen him doodling hearts on his paper. That's how I found out. Ling's been really quiet about it too. Even Al was surprised when I told him and he's the most perceptive person I know. There's no way Winry could have known. It's impossible. Of course, she'll probably just pass it off as Women's Intuition.
Why did she say that Ling only thinks she likes Russell? She does like him. It's a widely accepted fact. Winry likes Russell. Everyone knows that, even Ling. So why did Winry say that Ling only thinks she likes Russell. It just doesn't make sense.
I resist the urge to bang my head against the keyboard. Doing that doesn't relieve any stress and tends to screw up the computer.
oneofthelowmillions has signed on.
Russell's on. Maybe he can explain Winry's strange behavior.
oneofthelowmillions: Alright, Ed. What did you do this time? Winry's really mad at you. She just called me.
I flinch. She's more upset than I thought if she's venting to Russell. Especially because this is about her liking him and Ling. Oh well, I might as well see what she said about me.
Stutterbug: What did she say?
oneofthelowmillions: I don't know. It's kind of hard to tell when she's SCREAMING AT THE TOP OF HER LUNGS! And I think she was crying too. So whatever you did must have been really bad.
Stutterbug: What was the general gist of it?
oneofthelowmillions: Umm. A lot of stuff about how you're an insensitive jerk, complete ass, inconsiderate of others' feelings, no sense of tact, absolute idiot, utter moron, thoughtless brute, oblivious cow, dense as a rock, as socially astute as, but she couldn't even think of anyone who was worse than you. Then she gave this piercing scream-wail of frustration mixed with anger.
I bite my lip. I didn't mean it like that. It was just a joke. Only it wasn't that funny. Ling's always been nice to me too. He's never teased me or tried to get me to say his name. I didn't mean to hurt him! I wasn't trying to do anything. I just wanted to tease Winry a little because she called me short. I didn't even think of Ling. Which is probably why Winry's so mad at me. Not that I can fault her for it either. It's not like I don't deserve it.
Stutterbug: Was that all?
After hitting the return key, I cross my fingers and hope.
Stupid.
Why do I always hope?
I should know it's useless by now.
oneofthelowmillions: No. She started ranting. She's very creative when she's pissed. She referred to you as a selfish, self-centered, oblivious social-retard, an imperceptive, thoughtless, loathsome, half-witted midget, an ungracious, short-tempered, twitchy, irascible bete noir and a discourteous, doltish, lame-brained loony. My favorite part was when she called you a "midgety, boneheaded, titchy, dwarfish, runty friable little shrimp who deserves to stew in his own juices of social putrescence." It's amazing how she comes up with all of these, isn't it?
Stupid, stupid, stupid. The word ricochets through my head.
I bite my lower lip again, hard. It hurts, but I deserve it. I'm such a rotten friend.
oneofthelowmillions: So what was it that you did?
Can't he just leave it alone! Does he have to know what I did? Isn't it enough that I'm miserable now? Why does he have to add to it?
oneofthelowmillions: Come on, Ed. Please?
oneofthelowmillions: Look, I'm capitalizing stuff, and actually, using commas, correctly.
I smile in spite of myself. Russell rarely uses proper English in IM conversations, even though he knows how much it bothers me.
Stutterbug: Don't abuse the commas so. And I think I'd get in more trouble with Winry if I told you.
oneofthelowmillions: But, she ranted to me. She must want me to know.
Stutterbug: I don't think so. Not this. It's her in relation to you and I don't think she'd appreciate me telling you the specifics.
oneofthelowmillions: Oh. sigh That's what it's about. That actually explains a lot. This is really going to make the history project difficult.
Stutterbug: Don't remind me.
oneofthelowmillions: And speaking of the project, what do you know about Sloth?
Stutterbug: Why do you want to know? I don't like her!
oneofthelowmillions: None of your business.
Stutterbug: Then I won't tell you.
oneofthelowmillions: Please.
Stutterbug: Well, I do know that Sloth doesn't like to FAIL! Which is what is going to happen, unless you stop bugging me and actually work.
oneofthelowmillions: Fine then.
oneofthelowmillions has signed off.
I stare at the computer screen before turning off the monitor. I might as well do the physics homework. It's not like I'm going to get anything done on the history project. That and I'll probably get another lecture and or guilt trip from someone if I stay on.
That and it's due on Friday. 25 exercises, plus 11 problems. It's not so bad. Just time consuming. I look at the first exercise:
Can the velocity of an object reverse direction while maintaining a constant acceleration? If so, give an example; if not, provide an explanation.
Yes. The velocity of an object can reverse its direction and still maintain a constant acceleration. One example of this phenomena would be an object thrown in the air. During the time after the object is thrown and up until the top of the arc, the object has upwards velocity. When the object begins its descent, the direction of the velocity is reversed, yet the acceleration due to gravity (-9.8 m/s2) remains the same. Therefore…
----
An hour later I reach exercise 54, and I like it:
Why is it that a cat that accidentally falls from the top of a 50 story building hits a safety net below no faster than if it fell from the twentieth story?
I don't like cats, and I'm glad to see that the writers of this book share my opinion. Mom and Al adore the furry little nuisances. Fortunately, Dad doesn't like them either. Otherwise the house would be crawling with the devious little furballs.
Because, I begin to write, the cat has already-
"Ed! Time for dinner, honey!" Mom yells.
I sigh. Now I'm going to have to talk about my day and that's something I'd like to avoid. Possibly forever. Mom will just tell me to think positive and she won't understand any of it. She never does. She'd probably even agree Ms. Douglas's suggestion that I stay in Grand's class.
Why can't they understand that I'm terrified of public speaking and Grand only makes it worse? They seem to think that by forcing me speak in public is going desensitize me or something. It doesn't work! I know I'm going to screw up and block on some word. It's not possible to construct a speech free of all s, t, st, f, and l sounds. I've tried. Public speaking is torture for me, so why won't Mom just let me avoid it?
"ED!"
I swallow the lump in the back of my throat and force a smile. Sure, it's not going to disguise the fact that I'm miserable, but it's better than blatantly advertising it. With any luck they'll just think it's because of my presentation and won't pry any further
Wouldn't that be nice.
"Coming!" I yell before trudging down the stairs. It's a warm sort of dark in the stairwell. Light from the kitchen peeks through the lower railings. The wood of the stairs is striped like a tiger. If I had an artistic ability I'd draw or paint it. Sadly, I lack that as well as the ability to speak like a normal human. I can write though.
Not that that ever helped me, especially in Humanities when the speech was worth more than the essay.
I step down on the third to last stair before the landing and the nightlight flickers on. It's one of the uglier ones; antiqued by the fads Glade ™ created, with their fancy nightlights that smell of fake flowers and French perfume. The phone rings and I freeze. Winry wouldn't call and yell at me, would she?
"Mom, it's for you!" Al says. I let out a sigh of relief. I'm safe. At least for now. Normally Winry wouldn't call, mainly because phone conversations are not my strong point. However, she's been known to make exceptions when she's irritated enough. I sigh, cross my fingers that she doesn't call, and hurry down the last flight of stairs into the kitchen.
There, Dad's busy trying to find matching forks, or at least, non-plastic forks. He's not exactly known for his organizational skills. Mom never has time to do stuff like organize cutlery. Al tries to organize the kitchen, but he's no match for the chaos.
I don't help him. Mainly, because I've been banned from the kitchen ever since 3rd grade, which was when I still considered it to be my private chemistry lab. The ban has something to do with the fact that it took four years to get the skillet off the ceiling. Though it didn't come off so much as nearly brain Russell.
"Ed, take some of the plates over," Al says as he walks past me. He's carrying two plates with pot pies on them. I sigh. At least I can say what we're having for dinner tonight. I take the last two plates over to the table and sit down. Dad admits defeat and grabs the last clean forks, all of which are different styles. Dad sits down and we wait for Mom to finish her phone call. Words like 'flight delay' and 'hail storm' drift over.
So much for her leaving at noon tomorrow. Whenever those words are mentioned Al, Dad and I know that Mom's not leaving at a normal time. Words like 'flight delay', 'baggage lines', and 'cancelled' normally mean she leaves at 1 am and criss-crosses the entire country to get the her destination three days in advance.
"That was Erica from the company and said the company wants me to be there by three o'clock instead of seven," Mom says, sitting down with a sigh. "And because of the time it takes with all the security and flight delays, I'm going to have leave Friday morning."
"How early?" Dad asks, looking nervous. Al sighs. I slouched down in my chair. Greatly, now in addition to everything else that's gone wrong Dad's going to have to get us up. As if that will ever happen. He's the definition of night owl. He'd stay up till three am if he could. I don't even know what he does that keeps him up that late. He claims that it's work, but I'm pretty sure he's just looking for really obscure bands that nobody knows about.
"About 5:30. I'll wake you up at 3:30 then. Okay?" Mom says, smiling brightly. Dad cringes.
"Why are you leaving so early?" Al asks. I stare at my pot pie before breaking it open. The yellow cheesy filling spreads out over my plate and I take a bite. It burns my tongue and the cheese doesn't taste like really cheese; and yet it's good, in the way that only fake unhealthy things are good. I take a drink of water.
"Because my first flight got rescheduled to a later time and that wouldn't work, so now I'm flying to the Ohio airport and taking a connecting flight to Austin," Mom says, waving her fork around. The piece of chicken on it comes dangerously close to flying off and landing on the floor.
"That doesn't sound so bad," Al says, taking a dainty bite of his pie. Dad says nothing. He can't. His mouth's too full.
"Well, aside from the fact that there's a two hour gap in between the flights," Mom says, before taking a bite. She waits until she's finished chewing before adding, "But I have full confidence in baggage and security's ability to waste time. Honestly, do I look like a terrorist?" She points to herself with her fork.
No one says anything.
"Exactly, but I still have to take off my shoes and go through the whole thing every time. And it's gotten to the point where security recognizes me," Mom says, waving her fork around again.
"So, Al," she rounds on him. "How was your day?"
"Great! I went to Photography Club," Al says, smiling brightly. I stare at the congealed artificially yellow cheese sauce on my plate. I'm not part of any clubs. Mostly because none of my friends go to any of them. Why don't I go alone? Well that would involve introducing myself. Which always goes something like this: 'Hi, my name is Edward Elllllric, please ignore the st-ssst-sstutter.' I like to avoid saying that.
"What do they do in that club?" Dad asks through the pot pie. He was never into clubs when he was in high school. Instead he played football, badly.
"Well, this meeting we just talked about stuff, like exposure and lighting and stuff," Al says brightly. I can't see how he finds this interesting. Sure, he has a digital camera, but Photography Club? Everyone knows that's just an extension of the class.
Al talks more about the details of how flash and f-stop and exposure all relate to each other. I tune it out and eat my pot pie. I hope Winry doesn't call tonight. Maybe she'll let me explain, or at least apologize to Ling about it. But Winry's never been particularly considerate, at least not when she's mad about something.
"Oh Ed, how did your speech go?" Mom asks, looking at me.
Fine.
Can't say fine.
Alright.
Damn l.
Umm. It went okay.
That works.
"It went okay," I mutter and take another bite of congealed cheese sauce and crust.
"Do you know how you did on it?" Mom asks, genuinely interested.
F.
Can't tell her that. She'll want to know why. And fleeing the room because I think I'm hyperventilating isn't a good enough excuse. Nothing is.
"I don't know."
It's not a lie. I don't know if Grand's given me an F or a zero.
Dad gives me a look. Right, he knows.
He knows that Envy touched your ass and you--
I blush. My ears burn.
"Ed, are you okay?" Mom asks, "You don't have a fever do you?"
I shake my head.
I'm not sick. Just gay for Envy. Well, bi. Even then, it's more like I'm un-straight for Envy.
That doesn't even make sense.
Besides, it's not like it matters. Winry's mad at me and Ling probably hates me. And I deserve it all.
"You sure?" Mom asks again, peering at me. I duck my head. She can't read my mind like Russell made me believe in kindergarten. "Why don't you go get some rest? You might feel better then."
I shrug.
I'll just do homework anyway.
God, I'm so lame.
finis
Review Template:
Mechanical Aspects (1-10, 10 being the highest):
Areas that the Writer did extremely well at:
Areas that need work:
Chapter Question: Were the 3 AIM conversations too much?
Bonus Question: Why is it that a cat that accidentally falls from the top of a 50 story building hits a safety net below no faster than if it fell from the twentieth story?
(answer will be posted with the next chapter)
And because I took a very long time in posting this, I over you this option. You can now have Ed reply to your review (which means me, but in character as Ed). All you have to do is indicate what part of the review you want Ed to respond to. Something like QUESTIONS FOR ED works. And if you'd feel weird asking a strange person slightly personal questions, just pretend he's posted a few LJ entries and you're commenting on them or something.
Depending on the popularity of this … experiment, I'll consider adding more characters. Ed's the only one I have "down" right now, but characters I'd consider for the next one would be Sloth, Winry, and Envy. However, Sloth's inscrutability is rather vital to the PLOT, so…
Review. It makes me happy.