Note: Ah, the Showcases. Boy, that was a lot of fighting faceless enemies, wasn't it? But there was hopefully some good drama in there as well. You should have learned a lot more about the fighters through this, which will be quite helpful if you are planning on submitting a bracket for my Discord contest. And if you are just trying to enjoy the story, hey, that's cool, too! Hopefully, it's all less confusing now. Will probably still be confusing. There's a lot of these fuckers. Anyway, Showcases finish this chapter, and then the next chapter is a little break, and then we get to the big family dinner. Enjoy.

So… who the hell were Roane Ashwood and Nevan Jupitarian?

Everyone knew you had to save the best for last. The final Showcase always drew the largest TV audience, and as such, the final fight was coveted by every headmaster. Every Festival, there would be intense lobbying behind the scenes as each headmaster tried to get their preferred student into the final spot. It was the best chance to attract sponsors and leave a lasting impression. When the Vytal Committee selected Bianca Prisma and Vivian Jupitarian, it seemed a natural choice. But nothing ever worked out for anyone. When the viewers at home turned on the TV, they would see two unfamiliar faces.

Unfamiliar to most anyway.

…

When Ruda Tilleroot first met Roane Ashwood, she was naked and covered in blood.

There was no way to ease into that memory, and hell, it wasn't like Ruda had the chance to ease into it when it happened. Just… boom. Blood and boobs, right in her face. And Roane wasn't really apologetic about it at the moment, though to be fair, she had bigger things to worry about. It was her blood after all.

Ruda heard stories about the Demon from Argus for years. The devil-braided, punkish arsonist with a criminal record and a charming smile. The maniac who laughed as she watched others become subsumed by her flames. That she would be on a team with the prim and proper Bianca Prisma seemed a styles clash, a potential crate of dynamite ready to blow up the best team in Haven. It was Bianca's presence that gave Ruda a clue that Roane couldn't be quite the monster the world made her out to be. Maybe it was all an act to boost Roane's notoriety. But, when the time came for them to finally meet face-to-face… naked and covered in blood. Allegedly, she screwed up while training, and gashed herself in the torso, requiring the nurse to strip her down to take care of the wound. But, Ruda didn't see any wounds at the time—although, again, she could have just been distracted.

But Roane still greeted her with a charming smile and a bloody high-five. And no matter how hard their work became, Roane would protect her, shelter her from the harshest scolding of their teammates and the horrors of hunting in Mistral.

Yeah, Ruda knew Roane intimately. It didn't make it any easier to watch her claim the Showcase.

Ruda sat down at a bar in a restaurant called… well, Bar. That was the only signage. She was lured in by the "Contestant Friendly" sign slapped to the front door, a notice that the restaurant gave special, private seating to competing Huntsmen looking to get away from the public. In this case, every other potential patron was turned away at the door, leaving Ruda by her lonesome in a dingy bar in the middle of the afternoon. Some Huntsmen might have been turned off by the darkness, but she had crashed at so many of these places on missions that she had long-stopped being intimidated. Bar gave her everything she wanted right now: a beer, a plate of medium chicken wings, a TV screen, and a place to mope in solitude.

Watching Roane step onto the stage was like something out of a death metal concert. Fiery red braids fell over a spiky leather jacket. A massive, cylindrical cannon fit snugly over each arm, tubing connecting each weapon to gas canisters hidden beneath her jacket. She was smiling absentmindedly to herself, no doubt picturing the carnage she was about to unleash. One sight of her bulging muscles probably had every audience member swooning. But Ruda knew better. There was something rickety about the way she walked. Her protector was gone right now. Gone to bed. The thing that woke was horrifying.

Keeping up the metal theme was the other, final Showcase participant. Ruda didn't recognize Nevan Jupitarian, though the last name maybe sounded familiar. An androgynous, gothic serpent, they stood on the stage hunched over, half a dozen chains snaked from their limbs like the tendrils of a writhing octopus. A fiery mohawk of bright blue was the only color on their pale body, the rest of them dressed in black. They also wore a spiky metal jacket, except with even more spikes, a hundred of the things dotted on every spec of their torso. Roane was probably extremely jealous, or she would have been if she had not been trapped within her own head. Some viewers at home would probably complain about their fashion sense and the disrespectful way these supposed Hunters carried themselves. But Ruda watched intently, unable to peel herself away.

Nevan glanced over to Roane, smirk slinking across their lips. "Have fun," they teased.

Roane smirked back. "Oh, baby. You got no idea."

Ruda bit into a drumstick as she watched the announcer introduce the competitors for the final time.

"Introducing our final combatants. First, representing Team JJWL of Beacon. The Black Death. Nevan Jupitarian!"

Nevan cocked their head to the side, and an audible crack was picked up by the cameras.

"And introducing… representing Team BRIR of Haven. The Demon from Argus. Roane Ashwood!"

Roane rolled her head back. Her eyes sunk into her head and she fell suddenly to her knees. It was starting. She suddenly turned on the valves. There was a beautiful, gentle hiss only she could hear.

Yes…

Yes…

"Huntsmen, ready!"

Roane drove her fist into the ground. Every muscle in her body tensed. Nevan teased their finger around the base of one of their chains.

"And—"

Roane couldn't wait. The pressure exploded. Her eyes twitched wide, and she suddenly jumped up to her feet. She roared as her weapons came to life.

"Let's fucking go!"

"Begin!"

Roane aimed her cannons at the golems and fired with glee. The bottom portions of the cannons separated, and from the hidden chambers launched compact napalm explosives. The golems barely took a step before the projectiles struck their feet.

When they erupted, the first thing that spread through the auditorium was the smell: a caustic, burning tremor thick enough to clog the lungs. Slick, sticky chemicals burst from the explosives, dousing the golems, the stage, and even splashing near the camera crew. A moment later came a spark, and everything burst into flames. The charges blasted apart the nearest golems' legs as their stone bodies were consumed by a raging inferno, which spread through the battlefield like a plague. Toxic, black smoke smoke plumed into the air, creating a thick veil over the arena. The roar of the flames and the intense heat caused those in the stands to immediately panic, and they stood up, ready to flee to safety. The camera lenses became engulfed in the haze. Close by, reporters could feel their skin start to boil.

And above the inferno, a delighted laugh could be heard.

"Come on, let's kick it up a notch!"

Roane charged headfirst into the blaze, sprinting directly into the twelve-hundred-degree heat. She saw the golems, still active, staggering into formation, wearing the flames-like armor. Bad guys. So many bad guys. Burn bad guys. Burn.

Roane inhaled the smoke deeply through her nose. It stung the back of her throat. She was in love.

Her weapons came alive again, and she threw herself into the center of the golem horde, spinning around to engulf everything with more fire. The flames licked at the golems' rocky flesh, not enough to melt them, but enough to hurt—if they even felt pain. The golems surrounded her, and they bore down upon her with flaming swords, spewing some like chimneys. They didn't realize they were assisting her until she widened her stance and braced herself for impact. Her flamethrower gauntlets unfurled, exposing her palms, and with all her strength, she caught one of the swords mid-flight. The flames gently kissed her as she grinned excitedly.

"Mine."

With all her might, she ripped the sword from the golem's hands.

"Mine."

She spun it around, holding its handle tightly, and swung at the golem's head with all her might.

"Mine!"

She cleaved the head right off its shoulders, but her momentum didn't stall. She spun around on her heels, transforming herself into a fiery, decapitating whirlwind. Every golem within six feet was bashed apart, their bodies igniting further upon splashing on the napalm-covered ground. Roane cackled as she cut her way through the horde, each burst from her throat emitting even more smoke into the air. Eventually, the sword shattered on impact with a golem's torso, and the sudden shift in weight caused her to stumble into the fire. It clung to her clothing and singed the ends of her braids, but she stood up quickly, unharmed and unbothered. Weapon. Club. She needed a club. Thick, thick club.

Golem. That could work.

Roane rushed toward the nearest golem, arms outstretched. It attempted to swing at her, but she dove at its legs, tackling the thing to the floor. She crawled up the length of its body, heavy cannons bashing into its torso as she used them like anchors. She straddled the stone beast, red eyes feasting over its faceless fear. She reared her head back, summoning her strength. With a scream, she plunged down into a headbutt.

The first strike did nothing but resonate with a thud.

The second strike broke the golem's head into pieces.

Roane leaned back, feeling the blood trickle down her forehead and onto her lips. It mixed with the toxins and she savored it. She hooked her fingers into the creases of the golem's neck, and in one swift motion, hoisted it upright. The other golems had regrouped onto her position, but she was prepared. When they attempted to attack, they landed hits not on the Huntress, but the carcass of their fallen soldier, carried around as a massive shield.

And, when Roane began swinging the golem's corpse into the others, a wrecking ball.

No one could actually see most of this. The camera crews were obsessed with getting to a safe distance and retrieving a fire marshal. The cameras themselves had their lenses stained from the smoke, leaving the television audience in the dark. Even the sound of Roane's psychotic cheers was drowned out by the intensity of the fire. The announcer had given up attempting to keep track of the dead golems and was in the middle of a back-and-forth debate with the referees over whether to terminate the match. The one person who had a decent view of the affair was Nevan Jupitarian—and they loved every second of it.

Nevan wasn't really trying to win their Showcase. Well, they were but they weren't. It didn't actually matter if they won, but it did seem like fun. The golems were such a pathetic threat that they only half paid attention to their slow march across the ring. Instead, they knelt down by their arena's edge, peacefully watching the carnage take place on the stage next to them. They didn't have a great view, but most of the smoke pooled away from them, and they could often see Roane jump above the flames, or small explosions of rock whenever she broke a golem.

"You're doing great, love," Nevan said calmly. Roane would never have heard them, but they felt the sentiment would somehow reach them. And speaking of reaching things, the golems were finally getting off their lazy asses and were nearly in striking range. Probably should do something about it.

Nevan calmly lifted their palm, and like a balloon, a flaming skull floated into mid-air, materializing from the ether. Nevan flicked their wrist, and one of their chains hooked into the skull's jaw. Nevan checked their aim out of the corner of their eye, and when the golem's got slightly too close for comfort, Nevan thrust out their arm. The chain shot forward like a whip, driving the skull into the golem's chest, and the resulting pop caused the stone creature to burst. The other golems' staggered back, which gave Nevan even more time to load up their chains with additional flaming, exploding skulls. They lazily waved their arms, and the chains lashed out in waves, forming a deadly, protective web around the Hunter. Any golem that drew too close exploded on impact, and the moment one skull disappeared, another instantly took its place. There. That'll stall them. Nevan smirked at their handiwork and turned back to the battle.

Unfortunately, Nevan would be the only one who had the privilege to watch the rest of the fight. The smoke filling the arena had become so dense that the camera crews began to evacuate, and for the viewers at home watching any custom feed, the screen had become a hazy, black void.

Ruda saw her punitive-hate-watching-masquerading-as-escapism slip away when the broadcast cut away. Two sports anchors appeared on the screen instead, breaking down the end of what were the strangest Showcases in Vytal Festival history. They badmouthed her teammate, and Ruda felt the same frustration she had for months whenever this alternate persona of Roane slipped into public view. If she were to open her Scroll now, she would see hundreds and hundreds of calls for Roane's expulsion, questioning the structure of their team, hell, trashing BRIR every way they could imagine. And she knew it was just one more weight on Bianca's shoulders that would inevitably fall down on her like loose rocks tumbling from a mountain, portending the eventual landslide.

She bit into another chicken wing. It wasn't even that good. The skin was flabby. What a bummer.

The broadcasters teased the next program: the second and final panel show of the day, hosted by Flynt Coal of Team FNKI, Bolin Hori of Team ABRN, Luci Wyld of Team JJWL, and Private John Ameson of Atlas Academy. If it was anything like the first panel, it would be full of juicy drama and wild speculation. Ruda wasn't sure if she wanted to watch that. Maybe it would be better to just take the check now…

Ching ching.

"This place will do."

"You sure? It looks like… oh."

Ruda turned her head to the sound of the bar door opening, and she nearly choked on her chicken wing. Two Huntresses had arrived, looking for a place to drown out their sorrows. They hadn't expected to find Ruda Tilleroot there, lips and cheeks stained bright orange, giant drill hands hoisted up on the bar, succumbing to her feelings. And she hadn't expected to see them ever again, partially because of what happened earlier, and also because she didn't think her heart could take it.

But they were here now. Yang Xiao Long and Blake Belladonna. And they were hungry. And tired. And committed.

Ruda nervously dropped her wing, grabbed her napkin, and tried to clean herself up. She refused to make eye contact, though it was too late since she was just staring wide-eyed at them like a puppy dog for twenty seconds. Blake pouted, searching the recesses of her memory. Which of the billion Huntresses was this one again? Ugh, didn't matter. They wanted a place where they could be alone, right?

"Hey, maybe we should find somewhere else," Blake suggested to her partner. Yang remained tight-lipped, mulling their options in such a crowded city. They must have decided that the search wasn't worth it, because without saying anything, they continued into the bar. Ruda gulped nervously as they passed by her, taking up a seat at the far end of the counter. Blake sighed, following her girlfriend. She sat next to them at the furthest seat, putting as much distance between her and Ruda as possible.

Ruda stared at her wings and said nothing.

The bartender handed Yang a menu, but they didn't need it.

"Strawberry sunrise," they asked calmly.

The bartender shook his head. "We don't have strawberries."

Yang pouted. "Then… sunrise. I guess."

The bartender nodded, leaving the women alone. Yang placed their elbows on the counter, sighing as they pressed their forehead against their palms. Anyone could see that her eyes were still puffy from crying, but who would be stupid enough to point that out? Blake pressed her hand against Yang's back, gently rubbing it as her gaze occasionally flicked to Ruda. She was starting to remember. The BRIR girl. Big fan of hers. Could sink into the floor. If she had any brains, she would get up and leave them alone. Unfortunately, the redhead seemed starstruck, unable to move. Blake had no plan of interacting with her, so she instead tried to keep her focus inward.

"So, looks like the Showcases are finally over," she muttered. "Thank fucking god."

Yang glanced up at the TV screen. They saw their name on the chyron. They were still talking about the fight.

"You wanna get something to eat?" Blake asked. "Because I think the dinner is early, and we could just wait for food there."

"We think we'll wait," Yang sighed. "Unless those wings are good."

Ruda's heart skipped a beat. Oh, come on. She didn't even say anything—

"Hey, Ruda," Yang asked suddenly. "Those wings any good?"

Ruda didn't look at them. Didn't want to be seen as acknowledging their sadness or interfering with their moment. But Yang was sociable even when going through hell, and she had no choice but to play the game.

She placed her hand on the plate and gave it a push. The wings sailed gently across the counter, coming to a stop in Yang's hand.

"Take them," Ruda said awkwardly. "My treat."

Yang held back a laugh. Pity wings. Their favorite. "Thanks."

They grabbed one of the half-dozen wings with any meat on them and tore into one. It was dry and stringy and… medium? Come on, Ruda, get some spice in your life. Who gave a fuck what it did to your colon? Live a little. Fun fact: Yang once believed that spicy foods increased their Semblance. Pain makes them stronger and all that. It didn't actually have any effect, but they still enjoyed the challenge. Unfortunately, these wings were a disappointment. Just like everything else.

The bartender returned with a sunrise, some orange-yellow mixture of sugar and citrus complete with a bendy straw. Yang sipped it diligently and sighed.

"So, how'd your team do?" Yang asked. Ruda pursed her lips. They still wanted to talk to her? Why? What did she do to deserve this? Even Blake seemed frustrated, having operated with the understanding they were trying to get away from thinking about Vytal for Yang's mental health. But Yang couldn't help themselves. They saw someone alone at a bar, and they wanted to chitchat. In some ways, it was better than wallowing quietly about their doomed future.

"Um… not great," Ruda admitted, still avoiding eye contact.

"Probably better than we did, though. Right?" Yang's smile was bitter, and Ruda didn't give an answer. Honestly, she didn't have an answer. In terms of their reputation, they both did pretty terribly.

"Well…"

"No, you can say it," Yang encouraged her. "Like, this was supposed to be our big comeback. We've been battling injuries for months and were finally going to prove ourselves. Then, we fuck up in front of the entire world and get our shit kicked in. It's hard to do worse than that. Now, we're getting culled by our own sister, replaced with some rando from Beacon. Again… hard to do worse."

Blake rolled her eyes. They were not supposed to reveal that last bit, especially since nothing was finalized.

"I'm… I'm really sorry about what happened," Ruda said awkwardly. Yang took another sip of their non-specific sunrise. Blake growled, putting her foot down.

"Hey, we said we're not going to talk about that," she stated.

"I mean, why not?" Yang asked with a shrug. "Doesn't change what happened."

"Yang, we're thinking positive."

"You hate thinking positive. Let's think negative."

"For the record, they aren't getting replaced," Blake declared, as if proving herself to Ruda meant anything at all. She nudged Yang in the side, trying to encourage them. "It's just a rough patch. They'll recover. They always do."

Ruda nodded uncomfortably. Yeah, sure. Rough patch. The tension ate away at her, turning her cheeks bright red, redder than when covered in boring, unspicy wing sauce. She was in the locker room, too. She heard the argument. It sucked. It all sucked. The stories of Team RWBY's heroics were clashing against reality. It hurt seeing them like this. She wanted them to be better. Needed them to be better. They were her heroes too, after all…

Ruda looked at the door.

That check seemed really good right about now.

But… what kind of person would she be if she just left?

On the same day that Ruda stumbled into a naked and bloody Roane, she also had a long conversation with Bianca about responsibility. She would hold it close to her heart for as long as she lived. She heard those words echoing inside her head at that moment. She took another sip of her liquid courage and cleared her throat.

"You know, um… I don't mean to interject," Ruda said, turning to the others. "But… I think you are a really incredible Huntress."

Yang sighed. "Thanks."

"No, I mean it," Ruda said, leaning over, in a vain attempt to close the several yards of distance between them. "Maybe this doesn't mean much, but no matter what happens during this tournament, it doesn't take away from how incredible you are. I mean… you're a Hero of Vale. Nothing can ever take that away from you."

Yang said nothing, but Ruda continued. "I know sometimes it can feel like this job has taken everything from you, but… you never know what new opportunities are going to come around the corner. Last year, I never dreamed of making it to Vytal. But all it took was one person believing in me, and… well… here I am." Ruda laughed nervously, and the awkwardness of her speech caused Yang to smirk. "I know you'll recover from this. These Showcases don't matter that much anyway. What you do from here on out is really important. So… yeah… go get 'em."

Yang barely reacted. A gentle nod was enough to let Ruda know the words were appreciated, and a slightly more confident sip of their sunrise. Unfortunately, no amount of kind words was going to get them back into Ruby's good graces, and without their sister's approval, there wasn't much they could do. For now, all they could do was wait, fate hanging in the balance until they reconvened for dinner that night.

"I'm going to use the bathroom," Yang said quickly, pushing themselves off the barstool.

Blake huffed. "Don't fall in."

"Darn. There goes our plan."

Yang quietly slinked towards the restrooms, and Blake, dejected, let out a heavy groan. She crossed her arms and leaned her head against the counter, frizzy black hair shedding onto the wood. She frowned at Ruda.

"That speech sucked."

"Huh?" Ruda said awkwardly.

"It wasn't great," Blake said. "I mean, it was… like… the most generic rah-rah speech I've ever heard."

Ruda was taken aback by such blunt criticism and covered her face with her hand.

"I'm sorry," she said somberly. "I guess it could never be as good as any of your speeches though. You're such a better talker than I am…"

Blake grimaced, wishing she could reel the insults back. She remembered clearly now. She was Ruda's favorite. The plucky miner even went out of her way to listen to her debate with Sienna. And she just told her to her face that she sucked. Shit.

"No, don't be. I shouldn't have said that," Blake said. "You were just trying to help. Everything has just sucked today."

"Yeah," Ruda said tiredly. "You could say that again."

"What? Did BRIR bomb their Showcase?"

"Um… literally," Ruda said, tensed. "We're dealing with enough bad press. This is going to really upset Bianca and Ivy."

"And you don't want to be a part of that," Blake noted, "hence why you're all by yourself."

Ruda tenderly wrapped her fingers around her pint glass. She shrugged. "I never really fit in with a crowd. Somehow, everyone's problems always seem to come back to me."

"Heh. Know that feeling."

"Really?"

"Yep."

Ruda nodded to herself. Yeah, she guessed that made sense. If Blake's socials were anything to go by, she loved sharing her opinions. That could probably be grating.

"I mean, regardless… I'm glad you are sticking up for Yang," Ruda said. "I'm sure she appreciates your friendship more than you can know."

Blake gave a quick, knowing smile. "Oh, I know that, too."

Ruda didn't understand but nodded as if she did. "That's… good."

Blake realized Ruda didn't understand but decided not to bother with details. "I mean, I wish Weiss would back her up, too. It's kind of frustrating having Yang's future be argued over in front of everyone and for her to just always back up Ruby."

"That doesn't sound as bad as Ivy."

"Which one is Ivy again?"

"The one who's always angry."

"Ah."

"Ivy just shut me down without letting me get a word in otherwise," Ruda explained. "I… I wanted to help out our team. I could have avoided this. I know I would have been so good. But Ivy still views me as a fraud. No matter what I do to try to earn her trust, she's never going to accept me. I'm just some dumb kid to her."

"That does sound pretty Weiss-ish," Blake admitted. "But I thought Team BRIR was pretty tight. Guess you guys have to go through the same bullshit as the rest of us, huh?"

"Well, really just me," Ruda sighed. "Since… you know…"

Blake didn't say anything. Ruda waited for a response but didn't get one.

"What?" Blake asked.

Ruda stared at Blake with surprise. "Oh, do you not know?"

"Not know what? I'm not psychic."

Ruda blushed. She guessed she didn't. "I, um… I only joined Team BRIR last fall."

Blake sat up straight, her mouth dropping open. "Uh… what?"

Ruda scratched the back of her neck, sheepish under Blake's intense gaze. It felt weird bringing this up to a stranger, but Blake wasn't really all that strange. She knew everything there was to know about the activist, her deepest thoughts and fears. Saying all this stuff, info that had been lingering in the public eye forever… well, that didn't really bother her at all.

"There was another girl on Team BRIR. Ricki Chrysanthi," Ruda explained, something haunted behind her words. "She was the one who won all those tournaments with them. She was this really cool fighter. And sweet. She spent a lot of time giving back to charity. It was Bianca, Roane, Ivy, and Ricki for most of BRIR's history, and I… well, I was actually on our school's fourth-ranked team, PROS. I kind of resigned myself to not getting any higher through senior year. How can you beat Team BRIR? But then…"

Ruda brushed her hair out of her face. Her throat became dry. "There was this really terrible accident at the start of the semester. Team BRIR were out on one of their usual missions. It wasn't supposed to be anything serious, but something went wrong. And Ricki… she saw Ivy about to get hurt, and she rushed in to save her, and…"

She trailed off, but she said more than enough. Blake heard enough terrible stories about Huntsmen dying young to fill in the blanks.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Yeah…" Ruda sighed. "It… sort of destroyed them. Bianca blames herself, even if it wasn't her fault. Roane tries to hide it. But Ivy… she and Ricki were really close. Basically sisters. I think a lot of Ivy died when Ricki did. And since she views me as trying to replace her…"

"I can see how that would suck," Blake stated. "I have some experience being an outcast. It isn't pretty."

"I just wish she could see me as a real part of the team!" Ruda said. "I mean, I got the tattoo and everything! I know I can't replace Ricki, but sometimes it feels like she—" Ruda stopped herself, her face flush. She might have had a bit too much to drink. "Sorry. I'm ranting, aren't I?"

Blake just smiled. "A natural complainer. No wonder I'm your favorite."

Ruda took a quick sip of her beer so she wouldn't babble like an idiot. "Heh heh…"

"Look, you can't please everyone," Blake said. "And sometimes your teammates are just gonna be pains. Find people you can trust completely and focus on doing right by them. If you do well in the tournament, then maybe she'll finally see you in a different light."

"I… yeah. I guess you're right," Ruda nodded. Truthfully, she didn't see herself advancing very far in the tournament. While she had a strong Semblance, she could easily be taken out by an unfavorable environment and her general passivity. But then again, Ivy wasn't really the one she wanted to impress. "Hey, uh, Blake?"

"Yeah?"

Ruda's smile was almost like a wince. "Thanks for talking to me. I know you don't have to."

Blake waved it off. "Eh. I got a thing for strays."

A few seconds later, the bathroom door opened, and Yang returned, sauntering back to their barstool. They immediately dove back into their sunrise, drinking the beverage until orange sediment lined the bottom of their glass.

"You took long enough," Blake complained. "Did you actually fall in?"

"No. No," Yang insisted. "We were just letting you have a nice conversation."

Blake rolled her eyes. "Oh, fuck off."

"Thin walls," Yang stated, noticing Ruda blush as she realized their entire conversation was overheard. "And by the way, Blake is our favorite, too."