THE PRINCE OF ASH AND SNOW

by The Not-So-Super Saiyan

based off the web comic by Stupidoomdoodles

and inspired by the works of LadyVegeets

CHAPTER NINE: THE DEAD MAN'S BOOTS

Content Warning: murder and graphic depictions of violence, mention of sexual assault

JANUARY 15th

Vegeta stood from the chair and immediately collapsed. No further instructions were necessary. No mission. Frieza had given him everything he needed. Vegeta had already been set on the path, all Frieza had to do was wait.

Nappa had been a complete wreck for weeks now, since he received his last text from Vegeta.

Blue falcon.

Vegeta knew. He knew what Nappa had done, or rather tried to do and he was going to come for him. But Vegeta was smart and patient. It could be years from now, or just a few hours. Nappa couldn't live like that.

Nappa had been summoned to collect Vegeta, or what was left of him. He hadn't seen or heard anything from Vegeta, and it was making him even worse. Every creak or rustle made him jump. He was antsy. When Frieza sent for him to collect Vegeta he could only hope he stayed unconscious long enough for Nappa to drop him off and leave. He didn't feel like dying tonight. But maybe he wouldn't have to. Maybe he could just-He adjusted the rear view mirror to look at the bloody mess in the backseat. Vegeta looked less like a human and more like a crumpled piece of paper, covered in vibrant whites, reds, and purples.

Something twanged in Nappa's dusty heart. He remembered this. This scene was all too familiar. Vegeta would receive his punishment for whatever it was: insubordination, unsatisfactory results, or purely for Frieza's pleasure. Sometimes it would be weeks before he'd see the little man again. Then out of the blue he'd get a message to come and get him. He'd always be in a state like this, always expected to pick up and work immediately afterwards. The more it happened the less Vegeta spoke to Nappa… or to anyone, and the more violent he became. He actually seemed to enjoy his work. It was just a job to Nappa, and Raditz for that matter, but for Vegeta it was a source of pleasure.

How did they get to this place? How did this happen?

Nappa couldn't let it go on like this, but he couldn't stop Frieza. Nobody was that strong and Nappa certainly wasn't that stupid. He only had one choice if he wanted to live. He was going to have to kill Vegeta before he woke up. Finish what he started.

He needed to be smart about this. If Frieza found out he had killed his favorite pet he'd find himself in the VIP Suite. No. He needed to wipe his hands of the whole mess. That's when he had a brilliant idea.

He would take Vegeta out and make it look like he had shot himself. Couldn't take him home. Couldn't risk whatever precautions the crazy bastard may have set up in his place or any eyes that Frieza may have on Geets's place.

Vegeta was freakin' nuts too, he could have knives in the couch cushions or...bullets in the toaster or something.

Okay. It's okay though. It's fine.

He just needed to do it. Do it before he pussied out. Just find a secluded place and go for it.

How hard can it be?

Not hard. He'd killed lots of people. All the freakin' time.

Shouldn't be hard, right?

Right.

Just put his gun in his hand and pull the trigger, right?

Right.

Yeah, no. This'll work.

Yeah?

"What's this all about? I was busy." Roshi said impatiently. But he wasn't busy. He was about to smoke a bowl and watch outdated women's fitness videos. That's what he meant when he said "busy." Krillin ignored him and addressed everyone in the room.

"Bulma is going to join everyone else here. It's not safe at her apartment. We have reason to believe that Frieza is after her personally."

"Well, it's not hard to see why." Roshi gave Bulma a seductive, creepy look. Again Krillin ignored him and kept talking.

"No one leaves without a Z with them, understood? We can't risk it. For all we know, they already know where we are."

The air in the room was stale, but Bulma didn't feel it. She felt nothing.

Roshi closed himself in his room and lit up until all anyone could hear was an endless stream of lecherous laughter and an extremely outdated women's jazzercise video echoing through the walls of his room. ChiChi handled stress by cooking and that's just what she did. She cooked more than enough for a traditional feast.

As the night settled down and Kame House became quiet. Bulma found herself spiralling into a tangled knot of anxiety and time she had an opportunity to stop and "relax" she found something else to occupy her time. She had to think of something that had nothing to do with Vegeta at all. So she sat about the code. The code that had plagued her for years now. Back to all those years ago when she discovered the first Dragon Ball and Goku along with it. Now she had all but one of them and she had over a lifetime's worth of genetic engineering in code. Everytime she felt like she was close to cracking it she hit a dead end.

There was something in the research though that gave her the feeling that all of those myths might just be true. Maybe Kami really had discovered the secret to immortality. There was really no way to know until she had all seven Dragon Balls. And her radar, though complete, didn't seem to work worth a damn.

So she brewed herself a cup of rooibos chai tea and settled in next to Gohan at the kitchen table. He was working quietly on calligraphy. He had changed so much, he wore basketball sneakers, dark jeans, and a shirt in the same style as Piccolo's. ChiChi begged him to change his new wardrobe now that he was back home but he would always wiggle his way back into the clothes Piccolo had given him. Inside he was the same sweet boy he had always been and this Piccolo guy was so fiercely protective of him. He could've been rid of Gohan weeks ago when he dropped him at Kame House but he had sworn to Goku to protect him and wouldn't leave until Goku return. After that, he found a reason to stick around. He would linger in the background like a bodyguard silent and stern. Gohan seemed to be the only one who could break through his tough exterior.

She set up her computer and held her breath. Would Vegeta be on it when she opened it up again? But it booted as normal. Part of her sank. She had no idea where he was or if he was even alive.

"Bulma?" a quiet voice stepped through the cloud of her thoughts. She looked up and saw Gohan watching her. His hands were folded gently on the table in front of him.

She smiled at him. "Yes Gohan?"

"Mama said the man I met at the gym was your friend."

The gym?

Gohan twisted his tiny fingers together and continued tentatively. "Mama said he's in trouble. Is he going to be alright?"

Her heart twisted. What a sweet boy.

"I… I just don't know Gohan." She meant to sound confident and reassuring but she was none of those things. She gripped her teacup tightly.

Piccolo had been brooding against the dishwasher, he stepped forward behind Gohan and placed a hand on his shoulder, "Hey. Kid. Join me outside?"

Gohan nodded and stood, pushing his chair in and politely excusing himself and following Piccolo out to the backyard as Piccolo tapped a cigarette out of its place, looked at it, tossed it back on the counter, and stepped out into the cold night air.

Bulma turned back to the code on the computer and mindlessly buried herself in it. But she wasn't doing it for the thrill of discovery this time. She dove head first into the endless sea of numbers to keep herself from drowning.

Nappa drove around desperately searching for a place to dump Vegeta. He told himself he was calm but he was absolutely panicked. He finally found an alleyway off the back of a neighborhood down in Southside. Pulling Vegeta's crumpled body from the backseat of his car, leaving a streak of red blood on the black leather. Yeesh. He set him down against the brick wall of the building and adjusted himself. Breathe. This is easy. Just grab his hand, wrap the gun around it and pull the damn trigger. But once he had wrapped Vegeta's hand in the gun he found himself wavering.

He hesitated for just one second. And in that second Vegeta's eye shot open and his arm twisted around, catching Nappa in the throat with the stock of the gun. Nappa stumbled backward sputtering. Vegeta wasted no time and swept Nappa's legs out from underneath him. The larger man slid on the ice and collided with the unforgiving street with a hard thud.

Vegeta slid his arm down the side of Nappa's leg to his large bowie knife. Nappa had kept it in the same place for twenty fucking years. He was so damn predictable. Vegeta stood over him. Nappa was suddenly full of pure, unadulterated terror. He knew what was coming. Vegeta was going to kill him.

"Please...Vegeta…"

"Shut the hell up." Vegeta hissed, through his swollen jaw. "You tried to kill me. Twice."

"I was trying to protect you. I followed you this far for your father's sake. I have covered your crazy ass more than-"

He stopped, overwhelmed by the rush of ice that filled his veins and the fire in his gut.

He had gotten too comfortable with Vegeta and let himself forgot just how deadly he was. Nappa hadn't even seen him move but Vegeta had sliced him sideways from one side of his ribcage to the other and down, spilling his insides onto the slush and snow.

"You...you..son of a bitch….." Nappa muttered, eyes wide.

It was poetic really, but probably lost on Nappa. He had spilled his guts to Frieza and Vegeta had paid the price. Now Nappa would pay in turn.

Vegeta's raw, bloody feet burned in the snow. He cocked his head to the side, blankly, and ripped the boots from Nappa's feet one at a time. They were much too large for him, but if they kept his toes from freezing off then it didn't much matter. He slid his feet carefully into the warm, sweaty shoes and stood again, looking down at Nappa. He wiped the knife on the dead man's shirt and placed his gun carefully in his jeans.

"Thanks for the boots." Vegeta said callously as he stepped over Nappa's convulsing body and the guts that spilled from his torso onto the frozen concrete, steaming in the snowy night air.

Vegeta limped down the street, and into the darkness, never looking back.

Bulma retreated to the guest room and immersed herself in the strings of numbers, but her mind wasn't on Dr. Kami's research, it wasn't in the room. It wandered helplessly through the storms, calling out his name and begging for him to come home, come back to her.

She slammed her fist on her laptop keyboard, letting out a wail that had been trapped in the back of her chest clinging to her spine. She let herself dissolve, let herself weep. He was probably dead. Because of her, and she had no idea wh-she looked up at the strands of code that had begun to run across the screen rapidly. She had done something. Something had inverted half the numerics she had collected.

Oh my god.

It was all starting to make sense. She had somehow completed the first half of the sequences, and it was real.

At least in theory it was real. The Dragon Balls… the Dragon Balls. How could she have been so stupid? That must be what Frieza's after.

He wanted the Dragon Balls. As far as she was concerned, he could have them as long as she could get Vegeta back.

Her mind was running too fast for her, she was tripping over her own thoughts unable to finish them. Complete them.

She had done it. She cracked the code.

With every clumsy, heavy step his body threatened to come undone. He was too tired to walk, too tired to think, too tired to fight. The adrenaline had long since worn off. The only thing that provided relief to his pained body was blustering winds that slapped and stung his raw skin.

He wouldn't make it home, there was no way. The only other place he could think of going was the address she had written inside the stupid Christmas card. All he could do was keep walking and hope to God she was there.

It could be a trap, it probably was a trap.

Didn't matter now, anyways. He ran his fingers round and round the sphere in his pocket. It was just like the others, the ones she had. It was warm to the touch. Disgust trickled down the edges of his mind. Disgust at himself, at her, at Frieza. If he was going to die he was going to take her with him and the last thing he would see before he died was the horror and pain on her face as the color drained from her rosy cheeks. The thought of killing her with his bare hands was the only thing that pulled him through when he could no longer feel his limbs. The sensation of her delicate throat crushed beneath his ugly, broken hands.

He should've known better. He should've known.

Bulma stormed out of the room she had been in and leaned against Krillin's desk. How was she supposed to focus with Roshi and his unwanted advances.

"Auuuugh. I can't do this Krillin. I cannot focus with that thing here." Bulma proclaimed in exasperation. Krillin blinked slowly, sipping his coffee and silently wishing that he had never been involved in any of this, as he so often did. They heard Roshi's voice calling from the other room.

"Hey beautifffuuuul."

"Ew. I wish I had a better place to hideout than this creepy old pervert's house. I am trying to change the world here and I can't when Roshi keeps grabbing my ass." She was angry and tired. Tired of Roshi's advances, tired of being away from home, tired of being bested by a bunch of stupid numbers. Now that she had finally begun to crack the code she wanted to bury herself in it, not chase away a lecherous old pervert.

Krillin felt both his eyes twitch. "Yeah, well we're the one's putting ourselves at risk here. So can you please stop complaining? We can't all be rich, you know?"

Gohan sat quietly at the other end of the kitchen table reading.

Roshi was still high out of his mind. He had spent a majority of the past hour kissing a poster of a swimsuit model that was still pinned to the wall. It was nearly midnight and he was still wearing his sunglasses.

"Ohggggiiiiiirrrrlllliiieeee."

There was a quiet knock at the door. Roshi answered to find a strange, half-naked man standing there.

"Bulma." he mumbled. He was only wearing pants and large, unlaced boots.

"Come again?" Roshi casually leaned on the other side of the doorframe. He took another hit and blew the smoke in Vegeta's face.

"Bulma. Need to...speak to...B-Bulma."

"Yeah. Sorry. Never heard of her."

"Please." the man growled. Lifting his hand to steady himself on the door frame, he brought a large knife into Roshi's view. Blood trickled down his arm and dripped down the contours of the blade.

"Oh. Right. That Bulma." With a swift whoosh Roshi closed the door in the stranger's face nearly knocking him into the snowbank and strode into the kitchen.

"Hey cutie!" Roshi yelled, slapping Bulma on the ass.

She whipped around, fire in her eyes. He was in the entryway of the kitchen now. His head sticking through a waterfall of wooden beads.

"What do you want?" she quipped.

"There's some angry bloke out here for you." He whispered loudly leaning in closer. "He's got a knife."

"What?"

What the Hell was he playing at?

"Looks like he's never had a happy day in his life." He took another hit.

No. He couldn't mean-

"Wait...you…." Her heart was fluttering like a butterfly.

No. Stop that. Don't get your hopes up.

Bulma nearly plowed over Roshi. She threw the door open breathlessly, the blustering winds stinging her face. Her heart fluttered in her chest so quickly it was making her dizzy. Roshi laughed. "Oh so you do know each other."

There he was, what was left of him. He looked worse than he had when she found him leaning against her door, bleeding to death. He teetered back and forth in the wind, fighting hard to keep himself upright. His good eye slowly rolling about, searching but never finding.

It was him. It was really him.

Her knees nearly gave out. She threw her arms around him and he collapsed into them. She was so warm. Vegeta heard her broken sobs as she tucked her warm face in the crook of his neck. Wait, was she crying? Knees buckling, he dropping the knife into the snow bank on the front steps with a soft crunch. He tried to stand on his own again but he just didn't have the strength anymore. His body shivered fiercely, he was practically frozen, his bare skin vibrant whites, reds, and pale blues. He leaned on her for support and she helped him up.

"Come on, let's get you inside."

Vegeta had had nowhere to go. He was in a haze, operating on instinct. His heart felt as though it had been twisted up again and again, threatening to dry out and disintegrate into empty dry strands, a husk of what it was. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to collapse into her arms and breathe her in or wrap his hands around her throat until the stars that glittered in her eyes, slowly fade to dust.

He simply did not have time left for feelings. He wasn't sure he had time left at all.

She helped him to the couch and tried to set him down as gently as possible.

She stood there in reverent silence looking over him. He was wearing a pair of large, untied boots and his jeans. Nothing else. His head leaned back over the edge of the couch, his breathing ragged. ChiChi immediately set about gathering supplies: conventional, traditional, and improvised. She hustled around the small house carrying armfuls. Everything from obscure herbs, to gauze pads, to old gym socks full of rice, and frozen bags of vegetables. No one said anything for a time until ChiChi broke the silence. With a worrisome look she zipped up the small first aid kit and sighed, placing a hand on her hip. "We are going to need more antiseptic."

Gohan sat cautiously on the other end of the couch clutching his book to his chest. He was more concerned with the man than his studies. He smelled strongly of metal and bleach. He stared at him intently. He couldn't be sure but he thought he was the same man from Uncle Ernie's.

He must have fought a lot. Mr. Piccolo had fought his whole life and so had Baba but they didn't have nearly as many scars as the man did. Vegeta's eye opened and caught his gaze. Gohan hid his face under the book.

Krillin placed a hand gently on Bulma's shoulder "Hey can I talk to you for a moment?" She nodded and reluctantly tore herself away from Vegeta and followed Krillin into the kitchen.

She watched the couch from the open doorway through the veil of wooden beads that cascaded through the entrance. Vegeta's head lolled lazily to the side. He stared at Gohan through one eye and Gohan stared fearfully back at him from behind his book.

"Look Bulma I need to talk to you about your friend here."

The words Krillin had chosen worried her. She suddenly felt very defensive.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Look I just had the boys down at the station do a little check on him. His criminal record is as long as my arm. He doesn't have a family, doesn't have a formal education, doesn't even have a last name. I'm just not sure he's someone we can trust."

She hadn't taken her eyes off him, watching the way his eye idly studied Gohan. He was probably the first child Vegeta had interacted with in years. Gohan looked politely and respectfully terrified. She couldn't help but smile.

"Well I do. I'm sure he hates Frieza as much as we do," she stopped for a moment, swallowing the lump in her throat, "No. More. Given the occasion, he'll strike back." She thought back to the stories he told her. To the pain and hatred hidden in his dark eyes.

"Bulma." Krillin sighed. "It's not just that, Bulma." he sighed "Look, we just got you here, somewhere that is going to be relatively safe. It would be foolish to invite one of Frieza's men in. I should really be taking him into custody, he can get treatment at the hospital an- "

"Krillin… he can't go to a hospital. You know that. They'll find him. They'll kill him. I can't do that to him. I won't." she wanted to argue with Krillin further but really she just wanted to be with Vegeta right now. He was hurt and he needed help.

"Damn it Bulma."

Someone had helped him into the spare room where Bulma had been staying. He vaguely remembered that. Bulma must have, to some degree, understood his need for privacy. She had given him something for the pain. It didn't take it away but it dulled it, rounding the sharp edges. She said nothing as she silently and thoughtfully cleaned his wounds. Her gentle touch muddied the waters of his mind, driving a twisting pain through his heart and up into his brain.

His pride had been splintered into shrapnel that lodged deep within his bruises and open wounds. He wouldn't be made a spectacle, not tonight. He didn't want stares, didn't want pity.

What did he want? He simply did not know.

The sun had long since set, the foggy window bright with snow that floated through the deep blue of night. He watched the snow for a time before closing his eye and relaxing into the pillow he clenched to his chest.

Sleep had pulled Vegeta under its dark waters despite his best efforts to stay afloat. He wasn't sure how long it had been since he slept last. It didn't matter now though. He floated dreamlessly somewhere beneath the surface, unaware of which way was up.

A thoughtful touch on his shoulder woke him. His arms and legs shot upright to cover his chest and face followed by sharp pain and nausea. He saw her silhouette, lit by the streetlight from outside, the white light catching on the feathering blue that danced around her face, her hands clasped together at her chest. Slowly he uncurled himself, clearing his throat. He opened his mouth to speak but it was dry and stuck to itself.

She looked at him with a look he had not seen before, one he didn't know how to decipher. Was it pity? Disgust? Sorrow?

"What?" his hoarse voice croaked.

Standing there in silence she took a thoughtful step towards him and stopped.

"Vegeta, I need to take a look at your chest and your hands now."

It wasn't until that moment that he became aware of the pulling, pressing feeling of medical tape and bandages on his back and neck. He breathed in the smell of rubbing alcohol and plastic.

Finally he met her gaze and nodded gingerly.

Vegeta felt two things: excruciating pain, and numbness. The pain was to be expected, but the numbness? It was a kind that gently vibrated through his muscles after the pain of electrical shock left him feeling heavy and hollow. He would have scoffed at it, but he was too numb to care. Slowly and deliberately he released the pillow. It pulled at his skin where the wounds had begun to clot and stick to the fabric of the pillowcase.

Bulma stepped in, nearly matching his solemn pace, she moved the pillow further in front of him under the window sill. Stacking it on another pillow she fluffed them with her hands.

Neither of them spoke as he achingly scooted along the blankets and sheets and leaned into the pillows. He let his head rest on the damp windowsill, tracing patterns in the stucco ceiling with his eye. He felt her join him on the bed and wiggle away from the edge. She reached out gently for his poorly bandaged hand.

"May I?"

No. Don't touch me. Leave me alone.

He nodded ever so slightly, still staring at the ugly textures above him. In the midst of everything else he had forgotten all about his finger. He rather preferred it that way. He knew it was going to be an ugly sight opening the bandage. Soon after Frieza had order Zarbon remove the finger, he had used some sort of chemical to cauterize the wound. Couldn't have Vegeta bleeding out before he was done with his fun. The cauterization had been more painful than the loss of the finger, sizzling and fizzing as it was forced down in whatever solution Zarbon had used. He remembered the feeling of the bubbling that chewed on his raw flesh. They had wrapped it sloppily afterwards, leaving the solution dripping from his hand, it had been that way for days now.

Warily she unwrapped the matted bandages that encased his fist. Shivering at the pain, he kept his eye trained on the light dancing from outside on the stucco. Despite her careful touch, the bandages pulled at his skin, taking layers of blisters with them.

The sound of her trembling breath brought his eye back down. Bulma's shoulders swallowed her delicate neck, her legs folded beneath her. Eyes shut tight and her face tucked into her chest, she bit down on her lip. She was quivering.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. She told herself over and over.

She had resolved that she would be strong for him. But she felt her compose crumbling into thousands of pieces. Slowly unwrapping his hand, her heart fell almost as fast as the tears.

She was not prepared for what she had found. It was so much worse than she imagined. His skin was covered in large, patchy, oozing burns, each a brilliant shade of red, yellow, and blackish blue. It looked awful and smelled even worse.

She felt the weight of his other hand resting on hers. Unfolding herself she met his stare. The slightest crooked smile played across his lips, but the fire in his eyes had been snuffed out. Only ashes remained. His haunting gaze was hypnotic, drawing her in. In that moment everything else seemed to fall away as she let his stare pull her closer. She had slowly released his hand and leaned in, the flowing fabric of her shirt dancing across his lap. They shared a breath as she pressed her forehead reverently to his. Breathing her in, he stiffened, eyebrows knit together. Her eyes flickered as she touched her lips to his.

Vegeta's heart twisted and wrung itself out, draining the blood from his face. Something inside his chest wriggled and squirmed, begging him to run, but he couldn't. It demanded he move, that he do anything, but he was transfixed.

Rosy lips pressed against his, while fingers traced tiny circles and lines across his cheek and neck. Her heartbeat fluttered in her trembling fingertips as they danced tenderly across his bare chest, tracing along the jagged scars, old and new, that stained his skin. Every touch warmed him and left an impression, like fingers etching swirling patterns in frost.

Breathe. He reminded himself. He wanted to let go, to collapse and melt into her. Wanted to soak her in like the sunshine and feel every inch of her body, but something stopped him. It held him captive, paralysed.

Her hips floated just above his, radiating warmth. The soft fabric of her blouse pressed against his bare chest as her hands slipped into the mess of his dark hair and around the back of his head, cradling him and softly pulling him closer.

She felt him flinch and immediately pulled her hands away.

"I'm sorry." she whispered, eyes darting across his face.

His throat tightened, threatened to suffocate him. All he could manage was a meager shake of the head.

He didn't want her to be sorry, he was sorry.

"Do you want me to stop?"

Swallowing hard, he pushed the lump of panic back down. It sat on his heart, causing it to squirm and spasm in his chest. With fluttering breath, he wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her into him gingerly. Tilting her head gracefully Bulma traced the contours of his neck with her lips, slowing making her way up to his ear.

"I thought I'd lost you." honey dripping from her voice as she choked on the whisper. She ran her lips over his throat, kissing him tenderly.

His head fell back, a breathy gasp escaping his chest. He had never felt anything like it before. He was so overwhelmed by the sensation he hadn't felt her hands trace down his chest to the button of his jeans.

She continued to suckle his neck as her fingers undid the clasp. Her hand smoothly sliding inside.

He grasp her wrist tightly, squeezing it and turning it upwards. Agony twisted his face as he looked through her, small ragged breaths barely reaching his lungs.

He was caught somewhere in between there and here.

"Vegeta …"

The sound of her voice pulled him back from the darkness that clawed at him and dragged him back to the cold, marble floors.

Eyes fixed on his face, her dainty wrist trapped in his iron grasp. He dropped her wrist as though she were made of hot metal. He began to mutter an apology but she shushed him, once again leaning into him. Her warm breath dancing across his lips.

"Let me heal you."

And he did.

They slipped in and out of time together.

It was single purest thing Vegeta had ever experienced. It was delicate and it was fragile but it was stronger than Frieza's entire army.

In that moment West City itself simply ceased to that moment, everything but them ceased to exist. They moved together, rocking like gentle ocean waves against the shore. Andin that moment, as their bodies shared the same space, moving as one, for the first time in his entire life Vegeta was truly free.

As always, the greatest of thanks to my valiant army of copy editors Hanko, Cindermane and dgschneider for tolerating my flurry of artistic writing and making it presentable! Especially Hanko for the late night write sesh.

And praises ever be to Her Holiness, Stupidoomdoodles and the lovely LadyVegeets for inspiring this fic and really for getting me writing for the first time.

Comments are welcome, say hello! I don't bite! I also want you all to know that I read all the comments left on the story and appreciate every one of them. I am sorry I haven't responded to all of you but I just want to give a huge thanks to everyone who has read and continues to read this for supporting me on this endeavor. It's been such a blast and I hope you enjoy the rest of the story!