Cross-posted on Fanfiction, Spacebattles, AO3, Wattpad, and Quotev
(A/N) Many people had differing opinions about what happened last chapter, as such I've posted a pretty extensive comment in the comment section (it was 1500 words, so I didn't want to include it in the actual chapter) to address some of the more REOCCURING concerns and expectations that readers have voiced. Anyway, I've explained the choices that I've made over there. I'm willing to respond to more questions in the comment section (or maybe I should just open a discord or something), but PLEASE make sure you've READ EVERYTHING that I wrote before commenting again, I can only respond to those who are caught up on the information I've provided into my decision-making process in order to have an efficient and conclusive discussion.
But here's the next chapter.
Hope you all enjoy it.
His presence had become a fixture in her school life, as steady as the sunrise that greeted the girl each morning. Their routine was simple yet sacred: he would read, she would listen, and the world would hold its breath for those few, fleeting moments.
"Will you read it?" she whispered, the words floating between them like a timid butterfly.
The boy, whose gaze was often lost in the abstract planes of his own world, met her hopeful eyes. He hesitated, the corners of his mouth twitching with the ghost of a conflict, then nodded once, resigned yet gentle.
Her relief was palpable. She scooted closer, her side pressing lightly against his arm, an unconscious assertion of their silent pact. His voice filled the space around them, not with grandiosity but with a quiet strength that made the words of her story come alive.
The other boys, a raucous storm of energy, seemed to ebb around the boy's calm. His indifference to their antics was a shield, his focus on the girl and the book an unspoken command that even the wildest of them couldn't ignore.
Days turned into weeks, and the image of the pair reading together became as much a part of the classroom as the alphabet chart adorning the wall. She, no longer the target of teasing, found solace in the routine, in the certainty of her place by his side.
One afternoon, as the golden light of autumn bled through the classroom windows, casting long shadows across the desks, the girl sensed a change in the air. The boy was quiet, even for him.
He had finished reading her the story, his hand resting firmly on the book splayed upon his lap, staring into the distance.
Her heart skipped, an odd flutter in her chest as amber pools turned and met her gaze. The ambiance of the room faded as she waited with growing nerves for him to speak.
"Um…" Her voice wavered, like a leaf quivering on the brink of fall. "H-Hey…"
He didn't answer at first, taking a moment longer to study her.
"I'm moving to a different class," he said at last, the words dropping like stones into the stillness.
"A… different class?" The girl echoed; the words foreign, unwelcome. "But… why?"
He shrugged. "They said it's because I learn fast. After Christmas, I'll be in a class with the older kids."
She felt her mind blank, a static of nothingness filling the entire room, growing louder by the second. The afternoon sun was blindingly bright. It burned her eyes. Seared the image of him, of this moment, into her delicate mind.
At some point she opened her mouth, questions tumbling out. Words spilling. Her speech made sense, but their meaning eluded her mind.
"…But what about reading? What about…" Her words trailed off, her eyes searching his face for an answer, a solution, a sign that this was just another story with a twist that would right itself in the end. But she didn't find what she was looking for. Everything became just a blur, like wet paint smeared across the canvas.
She gasped. His touch was soft as they glided across her cheeks, catching the pearls of droplets rolling down her face. The tears came unbidden and only fell faster, spurred by his gentleness and the embarrassment of their betrayal, of her inability to reign them in, and for making a fool out of herself in front of him.
"I don't want you to go," she whispered, her small hands balling into fists.
But her pleas were a futile struggle against the tides of reality.
At home, she sought solace in the promise of connection, a digital thread that might bridge the gap his absence would leave. "Can we make an email?" she asked her father, her voice trembling with a mix of hope and fear.
But her father, usually so yielding, was a stone wall that day. "No, Lacy," he said firmly, and the finality in his voice was an echo of the door closing on her friendship with the redheaded boy.
On his last day, the girl found herself adrift in a sea of confusion and grief. As the boy gathered his things, she watched from her lonely corner, her heart a tight knot in her chest.
She wanted to say goodbye, to tell him how much their time meant, but her words were prisoners of her sorrow. And when their eyes met, hers swimming in tears, she spun around, a whirlwind of hurt and pride, her hiccups a staccato accompaniment to the heavy goodbye hanging unsaid between them.
Lacy was left with nothing but memories, the echo of a voice reading stories, and the empty space beside her that no one else could fill.
Blue eyes sparkled with curiosity and excitement beneath a canopy of blonde pigtails that bounced rhythmically with each step. The cool air of the supermarket caressed her cheeks, and her shiny leather shoes squeaked against the reflective floor, echoing a gleeful rhythm as the little girl trailed behind the adult in front, her small steps filled with eagerness.
"Lacy," the man ahead of her turned, his smile gentle and warm. "Is there something special you want to buy?"
"Oh!" She perked up with wide eyes. "Can I get chocolate?"
"Of course, dear." He patted her head. "Since you already know where they are, why don't you go and pick a flavor you like? While you do so, I will go and grab the last things on the shopping list."
"Okay!" The young girl beamed and ran down the other end of the aisle. "Love you daddy!"
Turning the corner, her pigtails flapped around as she zigzagged through the moving carts, dodging left and right around the legs of the adults. As the girl raced eagerly towards her destination, she caught a tuft of red passing by.
Lacy skidded to a halt.
On the aisle just across a crate of fruits, a taller boy was standing with his back turned, surveying the cartons of milk. She stared at his auburn hair, unmoving. Lacy took an unconscious step toward the figure. A familiar name hung on the tip of her tongue. An urge tugged on her thumping heart, begging her to utter the word.
A cart rattled by, just a fist shy of her nose.
Lacy squeaked.
"Careful there, my dear!" The old lady chided the young girl as she rolled her groceries away.
"S-sorry!" Lacy stared down the aisle dumbly, feeling the heat crawling up her face.
Another cart passed her, startling the girl out of her daze. She glanced around furtively, checking if anyone else noticed her fumble. Taking one last peek at the taller boy, the girl spun around and fled from the scene.
As she raced towards the chocolate section, cheeks flushed in heat, Lacy's thoughts drifted back to the auburn-haired figure.
The familiarity was uncanny. But it couldn't be him. After all, even if it had been an entire semester, Emiya couldn't have possibly outgrown her by that much.
Chocolate mousse. Having cycled through lemon tarts, caramel puddings, fruit jellies, and Portuguese egg tarts, Emiya has moved on to chocolate mousse as the latest endeavor to please Rachel's palate.
He already picked up the eggs, cream, and sugar. All that's missing are the butter and chocolate. The butter was just ahead, past the milk section of the dairy rack.
His culinary quest was abruptly interrupted by a sound—the unmistakable patter of small, eager feet and the playful squeak of well-worn leather soles against the polished supermarket floor. It was a child, a little girl with the unbridled enthusiasm that only the young possess.
From the periphery of his vision, Emiya caught a glimpse of blonde pigtails bouncing with each step the child took.
He almost paused. The sight was unexpected—to run into her, here, of all places.
There she was, in her own little world, her joyous state providing a stark contrast to the mundane task at hand. The excitement radiating from her was almost tangible. Whatever the case was, Emiya could only appreciate her current mood—it seemed to be enough to distract her from registering his presence.
The girl skidded to a stop, just a dozen meters across from him. She spun around. He had to stop himself from sighing, a gesture he had found himself falling into these days—too often for his liking.
Emiya turned away, feigning interest in the selection of milk in front of him. He waited for some kind of noise, a sound, a signal that the girl had moved on from her staring, that she would tire from trying to burn a hole into the back of his head. Perhaps, with his ridiculous growth—and the benevolence of some luck—she might dismiss him as merely a stranger with a passing resemblance to the boy she knew.
For Emiya, the idea of not being recognized by Lacy would be a blessing. He would rather not deal with another case of Rachel so soon. Lacy isn't a clear-sighted mortal. No, she is even worse of a trouble magnet. The girl was a demigod. She could see through the mist, and he'd rather not be confronted by her.
The memory of her reaction to his classroom transfer—the outburst of emotion from such a timid spirit—was still fresh in his mind. In the process of trying to console her, the teachers had explained that it was only natural that he advanced a full grade every half a year, much to the girl's confusion and denial. It was an interaction he did not wish to repeat.
Maybe, if he just continued to act ignorant, she would move on with whatever she was up to. With how shy the girl was, she'd probably feel embarrassed and awkward enough to retreat from the situation.
His contemplation was broken, almost abruptly, as he caught a whiff of fragrances—chocolates and roses, to be specific. Emiya heard Lacy take a small step forward. Towards him.
He arched a brow—props to the girl for working up her courage, but it wouldn't matter. She hadn't noticed yet, but the moving cart was going to be a close miss from her. A bit too close. That will definitely spook the girl from committing to her previous action.
"Eep!" A small squeak broke through the droning of shopping carts, confirming his predictions.
"Careful there, my dear!"
"S-sorry!"
Even with his back turned, he could hear the blood rushing to her face as she sneaked glances all around her, hoping that strangers did not notice her tiny blunder. She seemed to wilt, audibly, on the spot, all the impulsive bravado to confront him escaping her tiny body like air whistling out of a loose balloon. The girl swiveled around and fled, leaving only the ambiance of scraping wheels and hushed conversations of the mall.
A quick glance over his shoulders caught her figure rounding a corner.
Emiya shook his head. Truly, she was too timid for her own good.
He pushed his groceries forward, and grabbed a stick of butter, leaving the dairy section as well. Slowly, the noises of people dulled in the background.
The wheels of his cart wobbled and clicked as he rolled it forward at a steady rhythm. Everything else around him receded into a hush. Emiya strode on, his pace uniform like a slow ticking metronome. The lamps above him slipped by with each step he took, their glow elapsed in silent waves across his figure.
Drip.
Eggs, check. Cream, check.
Drip.
Sugar, check. And the butter, check.
Drip.
His gaze remained fixed on the end of the passage. All that's left is the chocolate.
Drip.
The boy's auburn hair fluttered gently as he passed a towering figure standing in the middle of the lane.
Drip.
The reflection of the man glided across his amber eyes, its image disappearing from the rounded rim of his irises.
Drip.
Labored breath grew increasingly haggard.
Drip.
A single, large eye roamed the shelfs in bewilderment.
Drip.
"…half-blood…"
Drip.
It wiped at the stream of saliva rolling down its chin, but the moisture kept on gathering.
Drip.
Emiya continued forward. His strides just as measured—unchanging and steady.
As the automatic doors whispered shut behind them, sealing away the store's chilled sanctuary, a warm breeze flirted with the urban scents of a New York summer. It was a dance of city aromas and the sporadic rhythm of traffic that filled the intervals of calm. Cars passed by in comfortable intervals. The pedestrians strode along the sidewalks, weaving an ever-changing tapestry of movement.
However, the blonde kindergartener, scarcely tall enough to peer over the checkout counters she had just left, lingered in a momentary trance. The store's glass offered her a portal to the world she was momentarily hesitant to rejoin.
"Lacy, come on, we can always come to the supermarket tomorrow if you want to get more things."
The girl stumbled a little and followed in tiny steps at the gentle tug of her father. As she shuffled along, tiny feet dragging the steps of uncertainty, her gaze lingered, tethered to the store's entrance as if an invisible string pulled at her attention.
The father, observant of his daughter's odd fixation, cast a glance over his shoulder to an ordinary scene—scattered pedestrians and the ebb and flow of a city in motion. "Is there something wrong, sweetie?"
For a few seconds, the girl continued to examine the area without a response. Her answer came as a hesitant shake of her head a moment later.
"Well, come on then, we better hurry before the traffic gets worse. You wouldn't want to sit in the car for too long now, would you?"
"…Okay…" The girl responded absentmindedly as she turned around to hold her father's hand.
The two stopped at an intersection, standing among a small crowd of pedestrians. This time, as the wait dragged on, the fidgeting girl couldn't resist the urge to pivot her entire body sideways, gazing down the sidewalk they had trekked.
Her small hand, pale against the weathered tan of her father's, tightened its grasp.
The man glanced at his child with a twinge of confusion. "Are you alright, sweetie?"
"…Um… Daddy?"
"Yes?"
"…A really tall man is following us."
The walk sign flickered white. Engines rumbled to life as a storm of clicking heels and scraping boots marched across the asphalt road.
The man followed his daughter's gaze and peered back.
One by one, against the backdrop of the roaring traffic, the pedestrians filtered past them, and he finally caught a glimpse of an imposing figure down the sidewalk.
Tall, unnaturally so, like a walking skyscraper among humble townhouses. That was the immediate, unsettling impression that clawed at the father's mind. The man was wearing a trench coat and a hat. His strides were incredibly big as he steadily reduced the distance between them. Then the father felt it—it sprung up from nowhere, a wave of uneasiness that washed over him, making the hair on the back of his neck stand. He started pulling his daughter across the intersection. "Lacy, when did you notice this man follow us?"
The girl's voice came out a bit wobbly. "At the supermarket. He was looking around when we were leaving…" The girl paused a bit. "I think he was looking for m-me? He looks really scary…"
"Okay, sweetie," The father continued in a serious tone. He looked over his shoulder, the figure was still following them and getting closer. "And… you are sure that it was you that he was looking for?"
"Umm, I think s-so… he saw me, a-and he just kept looking… and then he just started following us, I think…" Lacy winced as their pace continued to build. "… Daddy, are we in danger?"
"We'll be alright sweety, I promise."
They rounded the corner, the throng of people becoming denser as they entered a busier street. Immediately, the father shuffled to a stop. Lacy stumbled into his leg as he dropped the grocery bags with a thud, uncaring for the contents within, before scooping the girl up, eliciting a yelp from her as she wrapped her arms around his neck tightly.
A few pedestrians turned in their direction. A woman, who heard the startled girl, frowned as she tried to interfere. "Hey! What do you think you're doing to that child—"
The man broke into a jog, uncaring for the curious gaze of the crowd. He carried his daughter while pushing through pedestrians, leaving behind a trail of startled protests and hasty apologies. Not a moment later, some distance behind them, an abrupt flare of gasps and yells broke out in the streets.
"Lacy," the father grunted while throwing a quick look over his back. He felt his throat parch. Towering above the crowd was a massive figure, plowing through the tightly packed current of the pedestrians. "Tell me… what does he look like."
"U-um, he only has one ey-eye—" The girl flinched as she locked her gaze with a frenzied, bloodshot orb. She quickly buried her face. "…L-like, in the middle of his face—an-and it's really big…"
There was no reply from the man as he picked up even more speed, now completely abandoning even the basic courtesy he had tried to maintain, disregarding the occasional apology towards those he knocked into. With each pounding step, he wove through the throng with singular resolve, the distance from their shadowy follower his only compass.
He burst through the last line of pedestrians, the power in his legs wanned as muscles relaxed briefly. Eyes flitted across the streets. There was just enough time and space. His legs tensed again, and the father and daughter were off the curb. Bathed in the stark glow of headlights, they seemed to hang in the air for an impossible moment, strides stretching forward as their figure soared, before descending into the orchestrated flow of the busy street.
Tires screeched, painting the asphalt with blackened rubber. The drivers slammed their horns, raging in a crescendo of chaos. One large stride followed by another. Wind glided across their forms, billowing their shirts and tousling their hair. The man's jacket settled down and so did the girl's pigtails as they landed on the other side.
"Hey! What the hell is wrong with you, man!"
For a brief moment, the father slowed down, stealing a quick glance at the withdrawing crosswalk, focusing beyond the animated driver. His eyes widened.
"Do you want to get yourself kill—!"
WHAM!
With a sickening crumple, the hood of the car was knocked to the side, the tires dragged agonizingly across the road. The yelling man in the car smashed his temple into the window frame and the intersection went quiet. An enormous figure emerged from the wreckage almost unscathed, his trench coat now dusted with the grit of shattered glass.
Not once did its gaze stray from the retreating duo.
And the frantic yells erupted.
Soft brown locks whispered against the fabric of her collar as the woman secured a small cotton pouch with a deft knot, placing it beside her bag with a practiced gentleness. Her eyes, the color of midsummer skies, flitted across the store, alighting upon each task with a spark of satisfaction. Finally content, she stretched—a graceful arc of repose, and a soft hum, a tender melody of inner peace, broke free. The red-white-and-blue of her uniform embraced her form, a silent testament to the day's labors.
"You heading home, Sally?" A familiar voice, garbed in similar hues, broke the tranquility.
"Yep!" Sally's reply was a chirp, a soft timbre that hinted at the weariness beneath. "Need to beat the rush-hour tide."
Laughter tinkled from the doorway. "Almost three. Those candies a treasure for your little one?"
With a nod, Sally gathered the cotton bundle, her movements woven with the threads of routine. "Mhm— Till Monday then."
"Yeah, see you then," The other woman turned around, "You take care and have a great weekend."
"Thank you, you have a nice one as well!"
Amidst the sea of commuters, the grand information booth stood, its golden opal clock a beacon in the ebb and flow of transit. The waning afternoon light diffused through towering windows, casting a soft glow on the travelers.
Sally wove through the current, bound for the stairs to the underground passages. The clock's rhythmic pulse became a metronome for the symphony of transit—a melding of footfalls, distant voices, and the occasional sigh of a departing train.
A gentle smile graced the woman's visage, her thoughts adrift to the anticipated delight on her daughter's face. Absentminded, her fingers dallied with the pouch of candies, neglecting to stow it safely away. The bustle of the terminal grew, yet the murmuring backdrop of building commotion went unnoticed by Sally.
Only when an abrupt shove jolted her from reverie, her bag of confections sent flying, did the dissonance of chaos register.
A pained grimace crossed the woman's face as she beheld the figure tumbling past—a man, his balance a casualty of his haste, spiraling toward the ground. His descent was halted by the embrace of the terminal's unforgiving floor. A small blonde child enfolded in his protective grasp, bouncing harmlessly off his chest.
The stream of people parted around the duo. Some stared, others pointed, and a few whispered. Curiosity and concern flickered in their gazes, but none paused long enough to disrupt the flow.
Rubbing her shoulder, Sally's frown deepened at the sight. Noting that the man was already picking himself up and the young child looked seemingly unharmed, the woman looked around. She perked up in relief—her scattered candies lay just a few strides away. Swiftly reclaiming the bundle, the woman approached the pair with a mixture of concern and curiosity.
"Hey, are you alright?"
The man lifted his gaze, grimacing in surprise. "Yes, thank you," he rasped, a hand gingerly nursing his side. "I beg your pardon, did I bump into you? I'm really sorry, but I'm in an emergency right now, and I have to go—" He sucked in a sharp breath, jerking his weight away from one foot.
Sally looked at him worriedly. "It's okay, I understand," she paused, glancing quickly between the teary girl and the father who had a slight limp in his step. "…Here, let me help. I don't think you are going anywhere quickly with a busted ankle."
"No—please," the man winced again as he began to limp forward, the little girl hanging onto the hem of his shirt. "We're fine, really. Once again, apologies for hitting you, but we have to be on our way—"
Sally saw the movement of his mouth continue, but the words were drowned out by an overwhelming crash. The man in front of her fixed his dilated eyes on something behind her.
She followed his gaze.
For an instance, the entire terminal was blanketed in a thick veil of silence. Only the ticking of the clock echoed with clarity through the frozen hall.
The tinkering and screeching of metal bits and broken glass pierced through the hushed room. A colossus stepped through the deformed frames and shattered windows of the terminal's entrance, the debris grinding beneath each of its strides, pausing as it loomed over the crowd from the veranda. It unleashed a roar, a sound thick with malice and fury that undulated through the chests of everyone standing beneath.
Cursing under her breath, Sally's peripheral vision caught the father pressing a pen to his daughter's arm, his hurried scrawl a stark black against her tender skin.
The behemoth moved, and the terminal trembled. In a blur of motion, it leaped, demolishing the marble railing in its wake, crashing into the marble floor that sent ripples throughout the chamber.
As the clock ticked, marking another moment, the stillness shattered. Commuters dispersed in a spray of urgency, each seeking refuge in the labyrinth of the terminal.
Sally spun, poised to join the evacuation, yet her gaze landed on the father kneeling in front of his little girl.
"—you are a brave girl alright? Daddy trusts you," said the man, as he cupped his daughter's glistening cheek. "I know you can do it, just… just follow the people—there, you see? Follow them and get on a train. Here—" The man tapped on the drying ink on the child's arm.
The woman froze in her step as she glimpsed what was written.
"Whatever you do, you have to make sure that you make it to this address. Do not go to the police, or anyone else. They can't help you. And do not, do not use a cellphone—or telephone, or any other type of electronic device. Understood?"
The girl sniffled and nodded.
"Good girl. Just get to this address and everything will be fine. The people there will protect you. I love you." He pulled his daughter in and pressed his lips against her forehead. "Now hurry!"
The girl stumbled away reluctantly, glancing back every few steps, hoping that her father would somehow go back on his words—that he would get up and follow her. She eventually disappeared into one of the arches, her fragile hopes dashed into tiny pieces by the rooted form of the man.
Sally did not flee with the crowd. As the lobby emptied out, settling into the steady rhythm of the creature's stomps, her gaze turned, not towards the creature, instead lingering on the father as he wobbled toward his uncertain fate.
With a resolve that startled herself, Sally stepped toward the advancing terror, her position chosen with clear intent. It was without question now who—what—the girl was. The reality of the little girl's identity and the creature's relentless pursuit crystallized in her mind.
Camp Half-Blood, Half-Blood Hill, Farm Road 3.141, Long Island, New York 11954.
Emiya's red hair fluttered gently in the wind as the waning echoes of traffic bubbled from the streets far below.
The teary girl turned around, vanishing under one of the station's tunnels, and the address on her arm disappeared from his sight.
He watched as Lacy's father hobbled in a different direction from the girl, towards the red canisters secured to the walls of the main hall.
For some reason, the brunette in the red-white-and-blue uniform—the one that the father and daughter had collided against—decided to stay and help, despite the seemingly dangerous situation. He knew she had planned to flee along with the rest of the people, but something changed her mind.
Emiya did not miss the minute pause in her body after she, too, spotted the address on the girl's arm.
The woman's demeanor shifted after that. She dropped her shoulder bag and turned around to face the Cyclops.
Even from where he stood, Emiya could tell how her blue eyes shined despite the circumstances. The spark held within those pools of blue reminded him too much of Rachel's.
Then the brunette moved. In a moment of recklessness, she apparently thought it was a good idea to run closer to the Cyclops and yell at it.
The creature responded with a roar.
Emiya observed as the woman flinched, retreating steps betraying her bravado. Yet, undeterred, she escalated her defiance, hurling a small pouch directly at the monster's grotesque visage.
The bag arced gracefully, bursting upon impact and showering the Cyclops in a cascade of translucent, azure marbles.
Emiya watched as the blue crystals made their descent through the air, sparkling, caught under the shafts of afternoon light that pierced through the terminal's grand windows.
Jewel Magecraft.
He observed closely and waited for an explosion, a flash… a… something. Anything.
The crystals connected with the floor, skipping around in an erratic mess, like some cheap plastic beads.
Emiya's eyes flickered to the fallen pouch, noting the bold "Sweet on America" emblazoned across it.
He shifted his attention from the jewels to the woman, his expression impassive.
The woman recoiled as the behemoth roared, spittle peppering the space in front of it.
Emiya sighed, watching as she started back paddling, almost stumbling, as the behemoth tensed, muscles rippling, signaling the coming of a charge.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. What a mess this was.
The confrontation took an unexpected turn with the arrival of Lacy's father, brandishing a fire extinguisher. His intervention, though absurd, momentarily bewildered the Cyclops. A blast of foam enveloped the creature, its flailing form obscured by a billowing cloud of dense white gas.
Emiya raised an eyebrow. The monster's limited intellect was almost pitiable.
Regardless, the humans seized their chance, retreating with urgency. The man hobbled, supported by the woman, their exit as hasty as it was undignified as they disappeared under the same tunnel that Lacy had moments ago.
Inexperienced. Reckless. Suicidal. What a mess this was. He felt the simmering pool of irritation bubbling from somewhere deep within. The brunette's eyes held the same glint as Rachel's… and he did not like that resemblance one bit.
In the chaos, honks from the street below momentarily drew Emiya away from his musings. Amber eyes flitted back into the distance. The cyclops had emerged from the thinning fog, disoriented and enraged.
With a loud bang, his auburn hair danced furiously in the wind, and the dust on the floor expanded in a perfect circle, pebbles flung across every direction, pelting the metal door that was the entrance to the roof.
Frightened birds rose in droves, their fleeting shadows danced across the buildings as the dissonance of feverish wingbeats and startled cries reverberated through the sky.
The steel that hung above his shoulder had vanished like it was never there.
Emiya turned on his heels. His clothes ruffled in the settling winds.
I hope you guys remember Lacy. She made a brief appearance in "Chapter 2 - Seasons of Rachel". She is also a cannon character from PJO if some of you don't recall seeing her (she made her appearance in HOO and Kane Chronicles if my research served me right).
Have a great day
Cheers.