Ch. 27 – Saint Rothbart

When he had assured himself that his principal dancer would actually enter the stage, Louis Balanchine XIII made his way out the back stage left side exit. He moseyed past dressing rooms, smiled at other dancers as they rushed to and fro preparing for their own entrances. His cats followed him, correcting this or that in the dancers' attire as they passed – a loose bow here, fluffing some tulle there, a hair out of place.

Soon he and his feline entourage made their way up a side hallway, up a few flights of stairs, and onto the balcony of the auditorium. He took a place in the empty seat beside Saint Rothbart of the Coppelius family. The seat had been reserved for him.

"Balanchine," Rothbart acknowledged in his deep, gruff voice.

"It is a pleasure to have you back again, St. Rothbart," Balanchine replied. "And Giselle. Good to see you."

This last comment was directed toward the small, albino beauty seated on Balanchine's other side. The arm candy wore a wreath of rosemary in her hair, a lilac, ankle length tutu – and a dark slave collar about her thin neck. She averted her watery lavender gaze and said nothing.

"Don't talk to the chattel," Rothbart insisted. "It upsets them."

Giselle had belonged to another dance troupe. Balanchine ran a few. Naturally, for the sake of not upsetting the other dancers, Rothbart was thoughtful enough not to bring any slaves that had previously performed at the Saobody Opera House. It made their exchanges easier.

Speaking of their exchanges: "I trust you are pleased with your recent purchase, nya?"

"Humph, she is a tender young thing," Rothbart replied, owl eyes wide as he regarded Balanchine for a moment before turning his large gaze back to the stage. "She hasn't stopped crying since she found out the true honor of where she'll be dancing. But yes, I trust I'll get no end of enjoyment out of Marie once she accepts her fate. Tell me about her understudy. She is not as graceful as Pavlova."

"That is Yelene, my assistant choreographer," Balanchine replied. "A well-traveled warrior from Amazon Lily, who had spent some time in Ilium before its fall. She and her young daughter have been living here in the Opera House during the past week, and she has been a tremendous help cleaning up the show for your enjoyment."

"She is very like the actual Sun Queen," Rothbart remarked, owl eyes unblinking as he stared at her. "Moreso than Marie Pavlova. But I am surprised you chose to replace Marie with this Yelene, and not Isadora.

"I know you had an interest in Isadora, but I'm afraid she met with a slight…accident, nya," Balanchine grinned. "She will recover, and you can look at her then. Isadora needs time to blossom, in any case. But I think you will find that Yelene is a far more…unique specimen. Watch."

Just then, Yelene went up on her toes. Shoeless. She danced a string of bourres across the stage, and the audience broke into applause.

"There, is that not impressive, nya?" Balanchine asked. "Surely she is a piece worthy of your great collection."

"Perhaps," Rothbart said pensively. "Give me time to make my decision. I've already bought a nice piece recently, and will have to see more than shoeless pointe to open my purse again so soon. Come see me at intermission."

"As you wish, your grace."

"What were you thinking?" Zoro spluttered.

Helena bowed her head. "I thought I was weighing the risks," she said.

"Not only did you go out on stage with that man in the audience, Cipher Pol could have been there!" he chided. "And with Diddy's power, you may not have even recognized them!"

"Before the performance, before every rehearsal, Hades, before I left the room each morning, I scanned the area with my haki."

"And if Calypso or any of the others had masked their haki?"

Helena took in a steadying breath and met his gaze. "I had to take risks, Zoro. There was no safe path to reach you. Tell me what my options were."

"Please tell me you didn't do all of this because you fell in love with the stage," he pleaded.

"Well…" Helena sighed, "Perhaps in part. It would be a lie to say I didn't enjoy it while it lasted."

Helena could feel Kuina's eyes on her from the wings, and then caught sight of her as she turned. The toddler tried to imitate her movements, prancing about like the cats had shown her to do. Lady nodded approvingly, more interested in Kuina's performance than Helena's.

Helena's heart caught at the sight.

For all Kuina's tantruming and terrible-twoing, she clearly still loved and admired her mother.

"That's it," Misha murmured as the choreography brought him beside her.

They were about to fight one another for her hand. He stood with two prop swords raised gracefully around him. A third sword in his teeth muffled his speech a bit. Zoro had learned the trick of speaking pretty clearly through his weapon; Helena had no idea how he did it. She had to strain her ears to hear Misha's muffled voice above the music:

"There is emotion in your face now, Yelene. Use that. Let her be your inspiration."

I don't care about giving anything other than a technically good performance, Helena thought to him ill-naturedly.

The dance fight didn't even closely resemble their first match out at sea, or the one in the cave. After all, Helena had felt she'd given away enough details without revealing she knew exact play by plays of the Sun Queen's romance with Roronoa Zoro. In fact, she encouraged Balanchine to keep the choreography as much like the fight with the original love interest, the navy officer, as possible.

For the sake of speeding up the story, which focused on Ilium's fall, the Sun Queen and the Pirate fell madly in love in the heat of their duel. To avoid having to use the fly system here, or special sword shoes, Misha 'disarmed' her of two of her swords right away, before she could clutch any in her toes. She retaliated by knocking his sword out of his teeth, which made dancing much easier.

Two swords on two, they whirled around one another, the movements becoming more flirtatious as they went. Misha wore clothes somewhat like Zoro's now – a billowy white shirt, green bellyband. Zoro probably wouldn't be caught dead in those black tights though. The Danseur Noble had hidden all of his dark hair in a black bandana, even, and wore three earrings on his left ear. But though he looked like a smaller version of the part, Helena just couldn't picture Zoro and herself prancing like this with one another.

"You're thinking of him, I can tell," Misha murmured in her ear when they came close to one another. "Keep doing it! You're doing great."

"Stop it!" Helena snapped, pushing him away. It happened to be part of the choreography, so it worked. Misha smirked at her, triumphant that he'd coaxed a bit more acting out of her.

"You've got a lot more to give, you know," Misha prompted, "You're a great dancer, and there's a lot inside of you, so cut loose!"

"Hmph," Helena harrumphed. She slashed at him hard, and may or may not have been actually trying to hit him. Thankfully, this too was part of the choreography, and he leapt back.

"What would he tell you right now?"

"He wouldn't be trying to force me to share what I don't want to share," Helena spat. She turned a pirouette on the tips of her toes, spun several times, then came to an immediate stop, still balanced on one toe as she held her swords overhead in a fencing position.

This immediate stop was extremely hard to do, and the crowd burst into applause, as many of the long-time ballet fans apparently understood the difficulty.

"You don't think he'd be proud of you?"

"Proud?" Helena murmured.

Why would Zoro be proud? She'd allowed her country to fall apart. She'd brought hardship on their daughter. She'd turned down the gods when they'd given her the opportunity to make everything right. - And here she was dancing, receiving applause, when she deserved to be booed.

Proud? No, he would be ashamed, wouldn't he? Embarrassed even? Was this even dignified? – tears threatened to burst out of her, and she willed any sign of it out of her face.

"I'll tell you what I think," Misha said, turning several leaps in a circle around her as she fended off choreographed blows, still balanced on one toe. "I think he'd be amazed to see his warrior turning her pain into art."

Her grip loosened just enough on one of the light prop swords. He knocked it out of her hand. This was not in the choreography. Misha looked momentarily horrified.

"Keep the fight the same," Helena assured him, "I can do this with one sword."

"I got you to drop your guard," Misha smirked at her, doing as she asked. He slashed with both swords, and she swiped them aside with one. "You do have a heart after all. And it's been through a lot I can tell."

"That's really none of your business," Helena growled, "Now focus on the dance. It's about to get tricky.

It was about to get tricky because as she adjusted the "attacks", he had to adjust how he blocked. He wasn't a fighter, so she wasn't sure he could do it. He managed fine.

"You're taking the love out of this," Misha grumped.

She had intentionally made the fight more intense just to shut him up.

"You're forcing it," Helena retorted.

"Well, just remember, this is a dance, not an actual sword fight," he said, "And I know how to improvise too."

He shoved one of his swords into his teeth, and grabbed her armed hand.

"Wait, what are you…?!" Helena spluttered.

"Getting into character," he mumbled back through the hilt. "You and the Sun Queen are strong willed women. I bet your men have to be equally strong willed."

He guided her arm so she could grip his other hand, the one holding the katana. She recognized the ballet pose he was trying to create. Despite her annoyance she followed along, lifting one leg behind her in arabesque.

It probably made a pretty interesting stage picture. Helena had noticed that ballet was all about creating lines. With her sword in one hand, and his in the other, plus the horizontal katana in his mouth, it created this image that made their arms and legs seem longer than they were. She kind of wished she could see what it looked like.

Misha now had more of a grip on both swords than she. He pulled them from her grasp and tossed them aside with a clatter; now he only had the sword in his teeth. Leaving one hand clasping hers, he grasped her about the waist. He glided around her, turning her like the toy dancer on a music box in a move called a promenade.

"We're going to do some lifts you've never done before, so follow my lead," he warned.

He gripped just above the knee of her raised leg and lifted her off the ground. For a moment, he pulled her across the floor, a weightless bird. Then he allowed her lower toe to touch the ground, spun away from her, and gripped one hand.

He pulled, letting her glide for a moment like an ice skater. Soon the friction of the floor forced her to take a number of tiny steps, bourres. She eventually tripped into him, and he caught her as she fell, turning the tumble into a beautiful swan dive.

She really needed this money. She really needed this show to go well. If not she would have put a stop to this nonsense. It felt frustratingly like fighting with Calypso, only Misha was strictly professional in all this, and had not once shown an interest in her.

The swan dive, done well, meant neither dancer needed to use their arms to keep Helena balanced across his leg. The audience burst into more appreciative applause at the complicated move.

The music had just about come to an end. Misha removed the sword from his mouth with one hand, helped her out of the lift with the other, then spun her around so that he cradled her in a dip.

"Put your arms around my neck now," he told her, "And make like you're going to kiss me."

"If you try anything, you're dead," she muttered, then did as she was told.

She stopped short as she felt the prop katana touch her throat.

He'd won the duel.

The audience burst into its loudest applause yet. Honestly, Helena couldn't even be mad. He'd found a clever way to end the dance like it was supposed to end, which was with Zoro in victory. This was a much more interesting way of doing it though. In the original choreography, he was supposed to disarm her all at once and she was supposed to fall into his arms. This felt a lot less pathetic and a lot more romantic. She was sure even Mr. Balanchine, for all he didn't like improv, would approve.

She heard a little squeal from the wings, and caught a glimpse of Kuina applauding, just like she had promised to do. Well, Helena had the most important person's approval, and that's all that mattered.

As promised, Balanchine went to Rothbart's box at intermission. The bubble man frowned as soon as he laid eyes on him.

"You've got a skilled dancer there," he said, lowering his golden lorgnette from before his wide eyes. They slid easily through the bubble helm without popping it. "But though her style is interesting, I collect dancers for wives, not warriors. She clearly lacks a ballerina's precision and finesse."

Balanchine tried not to let his disappointment show. "I…I see," he said.

"Further, this woman you've cast, while she fits the role well, is not beautiful enough for my collection," Rothbart insisted. "Those scars on her body are either the most impressive stage makeup I have ever seen, or they are real. She even has one on her face, which would otherwise have been her best feature."

Balanchine pursed his lips, not actually all that surprised that Rothbart could see the face scar from here. With those huge eyes, he probably didn't even need the help of the lorgnette. He was obviously scrutinizing every inch of her, the creep.

"I'll come back to catch your next program, when you've got Isadora back," Rothbart said, standing, "She is a bit flamboyant for my taste, but I'll give her a chance, just as I do for all of your leading ladies."

Balanchine knew that about Isadora. He purposely kept a few prima ballerinas on hand that weren't to Rothbart's taste, otherwise he'd run out of skilled leads. He'd been hoping for a score with selling Yelene though, since she had made it clear that she would only stay to help with the one show. That was why he had sabotaged Isadora in the first place. It had been a gamble. Apparently, the gamble hadn't paid off.

"You are not interested in seeing her finish the performance, nya?" Balanchine attempted meekly. "She and Misha-Kun have an interesting dynamic when they improvise."

He'd actually been delighted with the changes to the choreography. Misha had managed to coax more emotion from his Sun Queen by putting her off her guard. When Isadora improvised it could be off-putting, but Misha and Yelene had managed to add depth to the characters.

"I thought they were improvising during that pas de deux," Rothbart said with a smirk, "It was definitely different from the last show. Still, Yelene is too guarded for this business. I shan't waste my time watching her performance; not when I've already seen it done by one worthy of the gods."

He grinned salaciously, clearly thinking of his latest acquisition.

Balanchine gave a little bow as the Celestial Dragon stood to go, dragging his albino slave upright with him. Just then Balanchine's baby pocket snail started to ring.

"What is it. nya?" he snapped in a whisper, turning away from Rothbart.

His stage manager's harried voice came through the line. "Mr. Balanchine, sir. The sword point pointe shoes don't fit."

Balanchine's eyes widened. "What?" he rasped.

"Yelene has significantly larger feet than Marie and Isadora. Her feet don't fit the sword shoes!"

Balanchine cursed under his breath. With everything going on, they hadn't had a chance to rehearse the sword stilt dance. It had been bumped to last on the schedule while the stage crew fixed the fly system. If Yelene hadn't stormed off…!

"Wait…she. What is she doing?" The stage manager's voice came through again. "She just drew one of her real swords and cut out the tips those other pointe shoes we gave her. The ones she ditched to be barefoot."

"NYA? She destroyed a pair of Siberian Swan pointe shoes?" Balanchine exclaimed in horror.

"She's sticking her swords into the ends!"

"Her real swords?" Balanchine asked, whiskers twitching in befuddlement. "Where will her feet go?"

"She says she's got this. She's already in the harness. I'm going to dim the house lights now…"

"Wait!"

Click.

"Well, I suppose I could stay to watch this," Rothbart said, seating himself again. He yanked Giselle down in the seat next to him, oblivious to her startled gasp of pain.

"The show must go on," Helena sighed, "That's what they say in show biz. When the shoes wouldn't fit, I figured the next best thing would be to create some shoes that looked enough like the stilts that no one would suspect anything."

"Wait, I don't get it," Usopp put in, "Why wouldn't you…oh…"

"Why wouldn't I just do it barefoot? With Rothbart in the audience? I'm not that stupid," Helena said, "The shoes were a ruse. I was holding the swords in my toes inside them. I didn't need the fly system either. If anything, it just got in my way, so I put on the harness but cut the strings. I did the best I could think of not to let Rothbart see. And yet…"

Her face fell. Zoro sighed.

"He saw through it anyway," he said. By Helena's expression he knew he was right. "Of course he did," he went on flatly. "Baka."

Rothbart's eyes narrowed at the graceful figure on the stage, particularly on her feet. From the conversation he'd just overheard on the snail, she had real swords stuffed up in those shoes.

"Where did you say this woman is from?" he asked softly.

"She's one of the Kuja from Amazon Lily. She left to find a better life for herself and her daughter," Balanchine responded. He seemed unsure if he should seat himself again or not, and so just stood there wringing his hands and watching Rothbart's every reaction.

"But she was your advisor on Iliad custom?"

"Well, she claimed to have spent time there. Being one of the Kuja, she traveled a good deal with Boa Hancock, nya."

Rothbart turned his huge, owlish eyes toward the choreographer, narrowing them to near slits. "The Kuja never had a good repour with Ilium," he pointed out, "None of the schichibukai did. Ilium has always hated pirates, even, or perhaps especially, those sanctioned by the Government."

"You follow the politics of us peasants this closely, nya?" Balanchine asked in surprise.

"Those particular peasants, yes," he said. "I had a vested interest in Ilium once. And in that woman in particular." He gestured toward Yelene as she turned a series of fouettes flawlessly on the tips of her swords; so many spins would have caused the fly system to tangle. Even the audience could tell by now she had nothing holding her up

"In Yelene?" Balanchine asked, all befuddlement.

"No, Yelene does not exist," Rothbart pointed out, turning his enormous gaze on the twirling queen. He gestured at her with his opera glasses, "That is Helena du Cygnus et Leda, Daughter of Ilium."

"I…don't follow," Balanchine said meekly.

"That's the REAL Sun Queen, you dolt!" Rothbart snapped. "Who else could dance like that on sword point? Who else would be so guarded? She is dancing the story of her own life!"

"So…does that mean you'd like to purchase her?" Balanchine attempted, wringing his hands more quickly now.

"No," Rothbart growled. "No, I will not pay a single berri for that woman. As far as I'm concerned, she already belongs to me."

"Now see here!" Balanchine yowled. "You may be world noble, nya, but even your laws dictate that slaves must be purchased honorably and in accordance with…"

Without warning, Rothbart drew a pistol and rested it right between Balanchine's eyes. "Do not think for a moment that you can command me, scum. I could have you for a slave this instant, you mangy cat, and no one would bat an eye. Those laws exist among us to keep us from stealing one another's slaves, not to protect the interests of you plebes. So do as I say and bring her to me this instant or…"

The Sun Queen had just finished her stunning display to a standing ovation. They were demanding an encore and 'Yelene' didn't seem to know what to do. She and Mochavsky made eye contact, and she nodded to him to start the music again. At the precise moment the maestro lifted his baton, a green-haired streak of energy zipped across the stage to her mother's side.

She threw her arms about her mother, positively beaming in delight. Rothbart's jaw dropped:

"You said she had a daughter, yes?"

"Yes, t-t-that's her, nya," Balanchine stammered, gazing cross-eyed at the pistol still threatening to blow his brains out.

"And she's married to Roronoa Zoro," Rothbart went on.

"Yes, that detail of the show is accurate."

"I know you pea brain. I made sure they told me who her actual groom was," Balanchine spat, then turned his enormous gaze back toward the stage. "A daughter with Roronoa Zoro's signature green hair." The noble inspected the toddler through his binoculars in fascination. "Now, you're sure that child is related by blood to your so-called Yelene?"

"The ch-ch-child has her mother's eyes, nya," Balanchine confirmed.

"Bring her to me," Rothbart growled, lowering his gun. His tone became more business-like "If she is the real deal, I will pay you six-hundred million berries for her."

"S-s-six hundred million berries, nya nya!" Balanchine couldn't believe his ears, but his voice still shook from the recent encounter with Rothbart's pistol. "That's more than you've paid for any of the other dancers combined!"

"Then I suggest you hurry, and stop asking questions," Rothbart snapped.

"Yes sir, right away sir! Nya-nya!"

Clutching her still tutu'd fox plush, Kuina sat on a full but unused sand bag where her mother had placed her backstage.

"I'm so glad you're enjoying the show, Kuina-bee, but you can't run out there like that while I'm dancing," her Mama scolded in a low tone. "And where were you, hmm?"

She'd directed this last bit at Lady Snake, whose stomach grumbled loudly on cue.

"You were chasing mice again, weren't you," Mama sighed. "Lady, we've been through this. When you're watching Kuina, you can't run off. You've got to eat before you start your duties."

A jolt in the music made Mama realize she had to go dance again. "I have to go on now. Keep out of trouble you two."

"Bweak yeg, Momma!" Kuina called, watching her prance out onto the stage.

The other dancers had taught her to say that. She smiled when her mother did, then took to swinging her feet back and forth where she sat. Her legs ached a bit from all the dancing and running around she'd been doing backstage, so she didn't mind the momentary rest. She'd be up and dancing around again in a minute, to be sure.

In pure delight she watched her mother dance her way through a staged battle. She didn't understand what it was supposed to be portraying – it was all so clean and neat and artistic that it hardly brought to mind the battle that the child had actually witnessed. All she knew was that her mother was so beautiful and graceful, and in that moment Kuina wanted to be just like her.

A loud meow distracted her from her reverie. She looked down at her feet to see Balanchine's lavender-grey cat, Twila looking up at her unblinkingly.

"Kitty!" she cried, reaching down to pet it clumsily.

The cat took a mouthful of the child's skirt and tugged, pulling her upright off of the sandbag and dragging her toward the exit backstage.

Lady let out a hiss in warning, winding suddenly about her charge and pushing the cat back. Obliged to release Kuina's skirt, Twila let out a hiss in return, and she and the snake engaged in a sudden staring contest. Unblinking reptilian eyes met feline, both creatures showing their fangs.

Fred the Calico suddenly pounced on Lady's head from the side, knocking her out of the way. and Twila resumed her tugging.

"No," Kuina cried, grabbing at her skirt and trying to yank it away. She dropped Foxy in the process. "Want to watch Mama! Stop it!"

None of the grown-ups around her seemed to notice her plight. They hurried on, only concerned about making their cues or their costume changes. If they saw anything, they merely thought young "Kina" to be playing with her animal friends again.

Ginger rounded out the feline trio. She appeared out of nowhere, an orange ninja, who pounced upon Lady and helped hold her down. But the snake wasn't the daughter of Salome for nothing. She whipped herself from side to side, throwing the two cats holding her into the wall. She lunged for Twila, jaws unhinged, and in an instant that drew a shriek from the child, Lady swallowed the lavander cat whole.

This finally drew the attention of some of the cast.

"Lady just swallowed one of Mr. Balanchine's cats!" someone cried.

Soon, some of the braver dancers had tackled Lady to the ground. She thrashed, trying to bite at her captors, but lacking her royal mother's size she didn't have a chance against so many humans.

Helplessly, Kuina reached toward her serpentine protector, who could only watch as Fred and Ginger snagged the child and dragged her away.

In the hallway outside his personal box, Saint Rothbart met the Sun Queen's daughter for the first time. Owlish eyes open wide, he took in her fiery brown eyes, unbending confidence, and long, pinchy toes in a glance. His oddly tiny mouth dropped open wide in his bearded face:

Yes, there was no question. This was a Daughter of Prometheus.

"I will purchase her, here and now," he informed Balanchine. "For the price stated."

Balanchine didn't argue. He didn't question why Rothbart would demand Helena du Cygnus for free, and yet offer so much for a two-year-old girl. – The plebe didn't need to understand those details. After all, there wasn't a single Celestial Dragon who could deny Rothbart's claim on Helena, what with the battle fought for her all those years ago. But if any of them found out about this child, it would help to have a receipt showing he had seen and purchased her first, fair and square.

"Would you like the mother too?" Balanchine asked. "Shall we wait for the end of the performance, or…?"

"No, I no longer care what happens to her," Rothbart cut him off. "A marriage to her would require an annulment of her current marriage, which would be easy enough by World Law, but I'd have to make her gods accept it too. Unfortunately, that little oath of hers would require me to duel for her hand, which is beneath me."

"Of course, nya."

The fool had no idea what he was talking about. Or maybe he was too awestruck by the enormous case of cash he now held in his trembling paws. Greed shone clearly on his face; he was only half listening. The nerve! It was a pity his choreography was so good. Rothbart sometimes wanted to put a bullet between the idiot's brows for all the cheek he dared to show during the course of negotiations. But really, he trained up the best dancers for his collection.

"However, a marriage to this little one…" Rothbart continued, patting Kuina's curls. She balked, eyes narrowed at him:

"You yike blue heart head, bubble man," she said. "I no yike you."

Rothbart struck her across the cheek.

Balanchine's eyes grew wide: "M-m-marriage?" he gasped, ignoring the obvious abuse happening before him. "To one so young?"

"What does her age matter?" Rothbart sniffed. "Silence, child. You will not weep in my presence, you understand?"

The toddler wailed harder. He raised his hand again, but Giselle suddenly threw herself in the way. Protecting the child with her body, her brand stood clearly visible on her mostly bare back. She scooped the girl up and cradled her against her chest.

"Giselle, how dare…!" Rothbart snarled at his concubine.

She was currently his favorite. Docile, servile, beautiful and rare – he usually chose her as arm candy to events such as these. But he had plenty of other options if he needed to end her.

"Apologies, master," she said, pointing a toe behind her and bowing her head low with a dancer's grace. "I only meant to help spare your ears by easing her tantrum. Truly she will realize how blessed she is to have been deigned worthy of servitude to one such as yourself. Have mercy on her as she learns. She is, after all, just a babe."

"If she makes another peep I will have her gagged," Rothbart sniffed, then turned from the sniffling nuisance back to Balanchine. "Anyway, I should leave now before her mother causes trouble."

He was no fool. He knew that, though a mere ant before him in status, the Sun Queen was a warrior of considerable skill. After losing everything important to her, she likely didn't fear the retaliation of the government. He needed to abscond with his prize before she was any the wiser.

He grinned evilly to himself, his tiny mouth a perfect little "V" in middle of his greying beard. It wouldn't be long before he became the most powerful man in the world. He could take out his revenge on her easily then. Destroying her with her own god powers had a poetic ring to it. Much more satisfying than trying to do so via the Navy, as he'd attempted unsuccessfully in the past.

"Collar her," he said of the child. An armored soldier from his entourage complied, all while Giselle desperately shushed the child to keep her from crying out about how heavy and uncomfortable it was.

And all the while, Kuina's mother danced on, oblivious to her daughter's plight.