[If it were an easier time, an easier mood, he might comment on how he's not that tall (certainly not Amaurotine-tall), and she'd reached him just fine in the past- but it wasn't that mood. Not even remotely. He can only sigh.]
Possibly.
[It's a quiet admission, and though his eyes flickered closed at kisses to his jaw, so close to his lips (a gesture itself that has his breath pause), they open again when she pulls back once more to observe him.]
Perhaps I'm just unreachable.
[Was that just how it was, how he was? He'd been on the same path for so long, that reaching the end of it, and having that end be failure- it didn't mean he could turn back, or carve out something else, or do anything other than remain in that final spot, fixed there, unchanging.]
How did you describe it... a black hole? [Said as though he didn't have her words memorized. His memory had unfortunate precision, at times. The burning recreation of Amaurot spoke to that.] People place their positive feelings, their hopes and efforts into my care, only for them to be crushed. You're not wrong.
[A late admission or agreement, but it's there, tone caught between some strange mix of resignation and simple sorrow.]
What do I do, Irhya. [Yet with the way he says it, it's more a statement than a question; his gaze falls upward, past her, towards the ceiling, though he's not really seeing that either, with his half-blinded gaze.] With you. Your counterparts. This place.
[Something raw flashes over her face at the recollection.]
I'm sorry... I didn't mean to hurt you by saying that.
[It's always been her way to be blunt, to say what's on her mind. But if he's held onto it that long, then it clearly affected him more than he was willing to disclose at the time.
She really should be careful how much of herself she pours into someone who can't change nor reciprocate. Yet, in his position, what would she do? Unable to adapt, unable to move on, yet equally as unable to go back. Homeless, friendless, and without the release of death.
What could she do other than despair?]
Is there anything you wish from us? Anything within the realm of possibility? I know it is a difficult problem, but perhaps... if there is aught I can do to ease the pain...
[Maybe being there is the best she can do. But does her presence do more harm or good? She doesn't know anymore. This is a topic with no answer and no end in sight, certainly; she wonders briefly if she ought to try and distract him from it, or at least get the biting part done so she has an excuse to not talk for a while.]
[At the stated desire not to hurt him, Emet-Selch makes a breathless, slightly pained sound that doesn't even approach a laugh. Any time any of those Warriors said something like that- it felt that bit more absurd. And how hard it was to deny the impulse to protest or retort, to ask why now was she at all concerned about hurting him with words, when she was willing to apply her sword with a far more lethal intent?
Besides, it wasn't as though Irhya's description of him had been wrong. That was why it had hurt, after all. That's why he remembered it, that's why it had an effect.
At one point, not even all that far into the past, he would've ignored the mi'qote's question entirely. It was still tempting to reject it outright, if not out of spite- but because there was nothing he could think of. Nothing they could do, less that they would do- and he couldn't even ask to be left alone because he didn't want that either.
Not that he was sure why not. It wasn't as though they brought each other anything but pain. It wasn't as though they would ever, ever remember him.
But Emet-Selch pauses instead, silent, nearly still apart from his breathing. But eventually he shakes his head, barely perceptibly.]
--What would you do in my position? Were our circumstances reversed? [This seems to be something he ends up asking every Warrior in the end. But they were all different people; if he was ever to find any sort of answer for himself, he needed everyone's thoughts.] Could you forgive everything? Could you forget it, and live alongside those who--
[But what if there was no answer? No conclusion, no means to tidy away this mess of grief and resentment and solitude. It wasn't as though he'd ever learned to cope before, and he just sighs in the end. What if this was it, this uncertainty was the best he'd ever achieve?
A fitting capstone to a lifetime of futility.]
It would be easier if we despised one another. We both have more than enough reason for it.
[And yet here they were, lying together like this.]
[She makes a noise of uncertainty, laying her head in the crook of his shoulder and making circles on his shoulder with her thumb.
His thoughts run parallel to hers. It's not as surprising as it should be. She takes a while to think about it.]
...Probably not.
[She knows herself at least well enough to know she'd be just as bad about holding onto things, about not being able to forgive. Fray could attest to that. And yet... how miserable of a person could she have the capacity to become? It's hard to imagine, from her only twenty-odd summers of experience, compared to his twelve-odd millennia.]
But...
[She thinks of her mother. She thinks of how she never forgave her for taking out all of her problems on her children, how even though Irhya was hardly in the right, Shura was little better. Even Hades had said as much.]
Maybe it's possible not to forgive someone, and still love them. To not so much move on from the things that hurt you, but to acknowledge it's over with and that life goes on, even if you might wish it didn't sometimes.
[Just like Shiva had never really left Hraesvelgr's mind, after all that time apart. Even with the knowledge she was never to return, with all those centuries ahead of him.
Perhaps that's the very thing he can't quite accustom himself to just yet. Hate, misery, bitterness -- alongside care, as well. Not that it will ever be easy, but to some, that's just how things are; joy in small doses in a lifetime of alternating pain and apathy.]
I think that might be the conclusion I would draw after a while. Easier is not necessarily better. Rarely, in fact.
[In a strange way, that admittance was reassuring. A claim to the contrary he would've doubted; at the very least, he wouldn't have sympathized with it. Irhya's answer at least implied she understood something of the difficulty involved- what was being asked of him when it came to accepting them, in living with them, in making any sort of attempt at reconciling his feelings about them, and their feelings about him. True understanding could only come with living the years as he had, Emet-Selch thought- but this version was likely the closest a mortal could manage. Some recognition of the scope involved....
He rests a hand against the back of her head, half-stroking at her hair, half just letting his fingers rest there as he thinks, distracted from even the small gesture.]
...'Tis a comprehensible goal. [Is something he has to reluctantly admit. Caring about someone while not remotely forgiving them at least sounded plausible in its difficulty, rather than outright insurmountable.] Except that life does not go on. It hasn't. For you it might be settled, this battle concluded, but I- how can it? My course became set at Amaurot's fall. For all that it's lost, I cannot abandon it. Even here, even in thought.
[He wasn't allowed to. He didn't want to- and Emet-Selch could hardly tell the difference between the two. If there was compulsion involved he couldn't resent it; if it hadn't been there, would he have given up years ago?
But it was a constant reminder. Of what he should be doing, what still needed to be done, what Irhya and the rest had prevented. Somehow- he was meant to accept their actions, their care, alongside his inability to give up or move past. He couldn't acknowledge that it was over, because that was the same as giving up, and he couldn't. Bitterness still burned in him, but he keeps his hand steady against her head. Refocuses his breathing; giving into that pain wouldn't accomplish anything other than hurting the both of them again, but oh, how he wanted to. To lash out, trapped and broken, unable to die or to live--
His hand trembles slightly but his tone is even.]
But I'll agree without reservation that nothing wanted is easy. Would that it be otherwise, if only on occasion- but the world never provides what we want without a fight.
I won't stop you. I don't have any interest in seeing you die again.
[At least he's doing a better job of keeping it together this time. And... admittedly, it's kind of nice that they can talk like this. Clearly, he's comfortable enough to be speaking so levelly with her, a scenario which in itself was earned the hard way, with plenty of shouting and tears preceding it.
It's a rough compromise to feel like she's sacrificing the Warrior of Light he might remember in sitting idle. Them and all the people of the First, and ostensibly Eorzea too. And it's not like she'll ever live long enough to see the end result of his efforts, even if she does let him research ways to preserve his knowledge going home. In that sense, it feels foolish to even presume she could make a silver lining out of sacrificing even one of those worlds, to save just one Hades across many parallel worlds.
But even though he knows of the result ahead of time, it's unlikely he knows anything of Ardbert. And that one overlooked factor was the key to their combined success across all these worlds. Only the Warriors here would know of him, and it's doubtful any of them would have egregious enough of a slip of mind to disclose the final nail in the coffin.]
Whatever you decide to fight for... will you fight, then?
[A reason to keep going is what he needs. She will not deny him that, if that's what it takes to pick himself back up again.]
No interest... means relatively little, Irhya. I've no interest in causing your death or that of your counterparts. But that won't stop either of us, will it?
[It was a passive desire, on the level of a general hope for things to be different somehow... and just as useless. His tone speaks of a growing frustration, though it's directed less at Irhya and more at... everything. At having information he can do nothing with, at not even knowing whether taking it back with him would be enough (Would he even believe the absurdity of this place to be anything but a dream? And how would it feel to lose everyone here?). Not knowing was the hinge of a great many of his problems.
People kept telling him there was no proof that they wouldn't remember all of this on a return home. But he didn't want to believe that; having hope that he could change things had just made him feel worse once he realized how slight his odds were, and how little there seemed he could do to increase them. At least not having anything to believe in offered stability in its misery.]
Do you really think I should have hope? For what? At this point- 'tis the same thing as denial.
[It's a thought that has him bristle slightly underneath her, irritated at his own contradiction. He didn't want to be told it was useless, to give up- but he didn't want to be offered the suggestion of hope either. He didn't know how to bear losing it again.]
Of course I'll continue. It's not as though I can do otherwise. But that's not... that's not the same as believing that anything will come of it.
[Ah, there's the rub. She can sense the mounting frustration within him, and moves a cool hand to his cheek to try and soothe it before it comes to a head.]
Don't work yourself up over it. It's okay to wait and see first.
[If the options are between having hopes that will (to him) inevitably be dashed and drowning in his misery, the latter is... certainly the easier option. But they just said the easier option is not always the better one.
Yet... in this case, she can't bring herself to encourage him to hope, either. She's not sure it's even possible to change his fate at this point, whether or not he comes back fully apprised of what's to happen.]
If you just have to coast along for now, if that's the best you can do, then do it. I don't want to see you suffocate in your sorrows, but if hope is too much to ask, there's surely a space somewhere in the middle...
[Easier wasn't better. But there was a difference between struggling for something difficult, and fighting against objective reality. Even if the former fails, there was a chance, which meant it was worth taking, but the latter? There was nothing noble, nothing clever or good in maintaining an impossible hope. That was ignoring truth, not fighting it; that was foolishness itself.
He would continue because he had to, his own feelings didn't apply, it didn't matter that he thought it a lost cause. Turning away from that and pretending he still had a chance- that in itself would be easier, would be delaying the inevitable, rather than facing having to live with the certainty of his failure. But could he ever find some measure of peace in the waiting? That was probably the closest thing to a middle point... a struggle not blinded by hope, but not given up to drown in the weight of his misery either.
But the cool hand feels nice, and though he can't quite relax entirely from it, Emet-Selch forces himself to try, to at least not get any worse than he already was. But it was also a reminder that Irhya was cool, and why.]
--Are you going to feed or aren't you? My blood isn't getting any fresher, you know.
Ahaha... I just wanted to talk with you a little bit. Sorry about that.
[Though she isn't really sure if an apology is necessary, all things considered. She does enjoy just laying here in his company, but she did also ask him to do it with a purpose that she's been putting off. So, letting out a breath, she brushes her hair aside and wrenches his collar down a bit so she can kiss and lick at the spot a few times.]
Guess you've been volunteering as a blood source for someone else, too, huh? Either that or you've a very zealous lover on your hands.
[In regards to the bruises. At least her feeding is simple and comes with minimal damage thanks to the sharpness of her teeth -- it could definitely have been worse. And she's been getting better at figuring out how to do it with little, if any, pain involved to the donor, though physical distractions like rubbing the shoulder or... other things are just as effective.
She doesn't wait for a response before sinking her teeth in. It's hard to say if he'll be all right in the long run, but for as long as he's here, at least it's possible to keep him a step above despair, if a step below hope at the same time. If he hasn't the energy left to hope for a clean solution anymore, then she'll let her own hope quietly burn in the background for the time being.]
[Her comment about his bruising gets a huff of a breath, and a dry murmur.]
You wouldn't expect a puca of all things, to be so bloodthirsty.
[But despite his prompting, he's in no rush to move, not really. Emet-Selch rarely was in the mood to move at all, and Irhya's presence with him was- not unpleasant. Even if it should've been, for the reminders she brought, for the answers that were impossible to supply. For the hope she seemed to imply she had in him... and what a strange thing that was. As if she'd prefer him to survive, despite what that would mean for his own version of their star... that she would have more hope for him than he did.
But there was a trace of comfort there all the same, whenever he wasn't too irritated or frustrated to notice it- as though finding in her a specific sort of company he hadn't had in- well. Not since she'd been whole and another person entirely.
Irhya's fangs sink in, and he holds still; it didn't hurt, and even if it had, pain was hardly a problem. But her delicacy and precision was also appealing, and for as melancholy as the mood was- this in itself was a form of reassurance. A quiet sort of intimacy.
His voice is barely a vibration in his throat, not wanting to disturb her.]
But you can talk to me... whenever you like. [A pause; a breath that barely stirs him.] I wouldn't mind.
[A puca... ah. Well, she's not that savvy on their dietary needs, but whatever works. The quiet admission earmarked for her has her lifting her head, though, looking askance at him as if surprised. It is... a kind gesture, more than she thought she'd get from him. Perhaps her assumption that he's reserved but not totally, irreparably detached isn't too far off? For better or for worse.]
...Thank you.
[She offers him a sincere smile, then gets back to work since the wound is still bleeding and she's not quite finished. Even so... maybe they'll just end up staying here for a while afterward, knowing him and his disinclination to exert himself. All in all, it was a productive use of her time, and his too, she hopes. After the shattering of their Bond, she just wants to try and prove she's not the miserable person he saw lashing out at her mother anymore, nor the self-indulgent villain who put to death his noble ambitions.
It will take time... but it seems she has plenty of that on her hands these days.]
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Possibly.
[It's a quiet admission, and though his eyes flickered closed at kisses to his jaw, so close to his lips (a gesture itself that has his breath pause), they open again when she pulls back once more to observe him.]
Perhaps I'm just unreachable.
[Was that just how it was, how he was? He'd been on the same path for so long, that reaching the end of it, and having that end be failure- it didn't mean he could turn back, or carve out something else, or do anything other than remain in that final spot, fixed there, unchanging.]
How did you describe it... a black hole? [Said as though he didn't have her words memorized. His memory had unfortunate precision, at times. The burning recreation of Amaurot spoke to that.] People place their positive feelings, their hopes and efforts into my care, only for them to be crushed. You're not wrong.
[A late admission or agreement, but it's there, tone caught between some strange mix of resignation and simple sorrow.]
What do I do, Irhya. [Yet with the way he says it, it's more a statement than a question; his gaze falls upward, past her, towards the ceiling, though he's not really seeing that either, with his half-blinded gaze.] With you. Your counterparts. This place.
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I'm sorry... I didn't mean to hurt you by saying that.
[It's always been her way to be blunt, to say what's on her mind. But if he's held onto it that long, then it clearly affected him more than he was willing to disclose at the time.
She really should be careful how much of herself she pours into someone who can't change nor reciprocate. Yet, in his position, what would she do? Unable to adapt, unable to move on, yet equally as unable to go back. Homeless, friendless, and without the release of death.
What could she do other than despair?]
Is there anything you wish from us? Anything within the realm of possibility? I know it is a difficult problem, but perhaps... if there is aught I can do to ease the pain...
[Maybe being there is the best she can do. But does her presence do more harm or good? She doesn't know anymore. This is a topic with no answer and no end in sight, certainly; she wonders briefly if she ought to try and distract him from it, or at least get the biting part done so she has an excuse to not talk for a while.]
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Besides, it wasn't as though Irhya's description of him had been wrong. That was why it had hurt, after all. That's why he remembered it, that's why it had an effect.
At one point, not even all that far into the past, he would've ignored the mi'qote's question entirely. It was still tempting to reject it outright, if not out of spite- but because there was nothing he could think of. Nothing they could do, less that they would do- and he couldn't even ask to be left alone because he didn't want that either.
Not that he was sure why not. It wasn't as though they brought each other anything but pain. It wasn't as though they would ever, ever remember him.
But Emet-Selch pauses instead, silent, nearly still apart from his breathing. But eventually he shakes his head, barely perceptibly.]
--What would you do in my position? Were our circumstances reversed? [This seems to be something he ends up asking every Warrior in the end. But they were all different people; if he was ever to find any sort of answer for himself, he needed everyone's thoughts.] Could you forgive everything? Could you forget it, and live alongside those who--
[But what if there was no answer? No conclusion, no means to tidy away this mess of grief and resentment and solitude. It wasn't as though he'd ever learned to cope before, and he just sighs in the end. What if this was it, this uncertainty was the best he'd ever achieve?
A fitting capstone to a lifetime of futility.]
It would be easier if we despised one another. We both have more than enough reason for it.
[And yet here they were, lying together like this.]
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His thoughts run parallel to hers. It's not as surprising as it should be. She takes a while to think about it.]
...Probably not.
[She knows herself at least well enough to know she'd be just as bad about holding onto things, about not being able to forgive. Fray could attest to that. And yet... how miserable of a person could she have the capacity to become? It's hard to imagine, from her only twenty-odd summers of experience, compared to his twelve-odd millennia.]
But...
[She thinks of her mother. She thinks of how she never forgave her for taking out all of her problems on her children, how even though Irhya was hardly in the right, Shura was little better. Even Hades had said as much.]
Maybe it's possible not to forgive someone, and still love them. To not so much move on from the things that hurt you, but to acknowledge it's over with and that life goes on, even if you might wish it didn't sometimes.
[Just like Shiva had never really left Hraesvelgr's mind, after all that time apart. Even with the knowledge she was never to return, with all those centuries ahead of him.
Perhaps that's the very thing he can't quite accustom himself to just yet. Hate, misery, bitterness -- alongside care, as well. Not that it will ever be easy, but to some, that's just how things are; joy in small doses in a lifetime of alternating pain and apathy.]
I think that might be the conclusion I would draw after a while. Easier is not necessarily better. Rarely, in fact.
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He rests a hand against the back of her head, half-stroking at her hair, half just letting his fingers rest there as he thinks, distracted from even the small gesture.]
...'Tis a comprehensible goal. [Is something he has to reluctantly admit. Caring about someone while not remotely forgiving them at least sounded plausible in its difficulty, rather than outright insurmountable.] Except that life does not go on. It hasn't. For you it might be settled, this battle concluded, but I- how can it? My course became set at Amaurot's fall. For all that it's lost, I cannot abandon it. Even here, even in thought.
[He wasn't allowed to. He didn't want to- and Emet-Selch could hardly tell the difference between the two. If there was compulsion involved he couldn't resent it; if it hadn't been there, would he have given up years ago?
But it was a constant reminder. Of what he should be doing, what still needed to be done, what Irhya and the rest had prevented. Somehow- he was meant to accept their actions, their care, alongside his inability to give up or move past. He couldn't acknowledge that it was over, because that was the same as giving up, and he couldn't. Bitterness still burned in him, but he keeps his hand steady against her head. Refocuses his breathing; giving into that pain wouldn't accomplish anything other than hurting the both of them again, but oh, how he wanted to. To lash out, trapped and broken, unable to die or to live--
His hand trembles slightly but his tone is even.]
But I'll agree without reservation that nothing wanted is easy. Would that it be otherwise, if only on occasion- but the world never provides what we want without a fight.
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[At least he's doing a better job of keeping it together this time. And... admittedly, it's kind of nice that they can talk like this. Clearly, he's comfortable enough to be speaking so levelly with her, a scenario which in itself was earned the hard way, with plenty of shouting and tears preceding it.
It's a rough compromise to feel like she's sacrificing the Warrior of Light he might remember in sitting idle. Them and all the people of the First, and ostensibly Eorzea too. And it's not like she'll ever live long enough to see the end result of his efforts, even if she does let him research ways to preserve his knowledge going home. In that sense, it feels foolish to even presume she could make a silver lining out of sacrificing even one of those worlds, to save just one Hades across many parallel worlds.
But even though he knows of the result ahead of time, it's unlikely he knows anything of Ardbert. And that one overlooked factor was the key to their combined success across all these worlds. Only the Warriors here would know of him, and it's doubtful any of them would have egregious enough of a slip of mind to disclose the final nail in the coffin.]
Whatever you decide to fight for... will you fight, then?
[A reason to keep going is what he needs. She will not deny him that, if that's what it takes to pick himself back up again.]
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[It was a passive desire, on the level of a general hope for things to be different somehow... and just as useless. His tone speaks of a growing frustration, though it's directed less at Irhya and more at... everything. At having information he can do nothing with, at not even knowing whether taking it back with him would be enough (Would he even believe the absurdity of this place to be anything but a dream? And how would it feel to lose everyone here?). Not knowing was the hinge of a great many of his problems.
People kept telling him there was no proof that they wouldn't remember all of this on a return home. But he didn't want to believe that; having hope that he could change things had just made him feel worse once he realized how slight his odds were, and how little there seemed he could do to increase them. At least not having anything to believe in offered stability in its misery.]
Do you really think I should have hope? For what? At this point- 'tis the same thing as denial.
[It's a thought that has him bristle slightly underneath her, irritated at his own contradiction. He didn't want to be told it was useless, to give up- but he didn't want to be offered the suggestion of hope either. He didn't know how to bear losing it again.]
Of course I'll continue. It's not as though I can do otherwise. But that's not... that's not the same as believing that anything will come of it.
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Don't work yourself up over it. It's okay to wait and see first.
[If the options are between having hopes that will (to him) inevitably be dashed and drowning in his misery, the latter is... certainly the easier option. But they just said the easier option is not always the better one.
Yet... in this case, she can't bring herself to encourage him to hope, either. She's not sure it's even possible to change his fate at this point, whether or not he comes back fully apprised of what's to happen.]
If you just have to coast along for now, if that's the best you can do, then do it. I don't want to see you suffocate in your sorrows, but if hope is too much to ask, there's surely a space somewhere in the middle...
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[Easier wasn't better. But there was a difference between struggling for something difficult, and fighting against objective reality. Even if the former fails, there was a chance, which meant it was worth taking, but the latter? There was nothing noble, nothing clever or good in maintaining an impossible hope. That was ignoring truth, not fighting it; that was foolishness itself.
He would continue because he had to, his own feelings didn't apply, it didn't matter that he thought it a lost cause. Turning away from that and pretending he still had a chance- that in itself would be easier, would be delaying the inevitable, rather than facing having to live with the certainty of his failure. But could he ever find some measure of peace in the waiting? That was probably the closest thing to a middle point... a struggle not blinded by hope, but not given up to drown in the weight of his misery either.
But the cool hand feels nice, and though he can't quite relax entirely from it, Emet-Selch forces himself to try, to at least not get any worse than he already was. But it was also a reminder that Irhya was cool, and why.]
--Are you going to feed or aren't you? My blood isn't getting any fresher, you know.
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[Though she isn't really sure if an apology is necessary, all things considered. She does enjoy just laying here in his company, but she did also ask him to do it with a purpose that she's been putting off. So, letting out a breath, she brushes her hair aside and wrenches his collar down a bit so she can kiss and lick at the spot a few times.]
Guess you've been volunteering as a blood source for someone else, too, huh? Either that or you've a very zealous lover on your hands.
[In regards to the bruises. At least her feeding is simple and comes with minimal damage thanks to the sharpness of her teeth -- it could definitely have been worse. And she's been getting better at figuring out how to do it with little, if any, pain involved to the donor, though physical distractions like rubbing the shoulder or... other things are just as effective.
She doesn't wait for a response before sinking her teeth in. It's hard to say if he'll be all right in the long run, but for as long as he's here, at least it's possible to keep him a step above despair, if a step below hope at the same time. If he hasn't the energy left to hope for a clean solution anymore, then she'll let her own hope quietly burn in the background for the time being.]
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You wouldn't expect a puca of all things, to be so bloodthirsty.
[But despite his prompting, he's in no rush to move, not really. Emet-Selch rarely was in the mood to move at all, and Irhya's presence with him was- not unpleasant. Even if it should've been, for the reminders she brought, for the answers that were impossible to supply. For the hope she seemed to imply she had in him... and what a strange thing that was. As if she'd prefer him to survive, despite what that would mean for his own version of their star... that she would have more hope for him than he did.
But there was a trace of comfort there all the same, whenever he wasn't too irritated or frustrated to notice it- as though finding in her a specific sort of company he hadn't had in- well. Not since she'd been whole and another person entirely.
Irhya's fangs sink in, and he holds still; it didn't hurt, and even if it had, pain was hardly a problem. But her delicacy and precision was also appealing, and for as melancholy as the mood was- this in itself was a form of reassurance. A quiet sort of intimacy.
His voice is barely a vibration in his throat, not wanting to disturb her.]
But you can talk to me... whenever you like. [A pause; a breath that barely stirs him.] I wouldn't mind.
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...Thank you.
[She offers him a sincere smile, then gets back to work since the wound is still bleeding and she's not quite finished. Even so... maybe they'll just end up staying here for a while afterward, knowing him and his disinclination to exert himself. All in all, it was a productive use of her time, and his too, she hopes. After the shattering of their Bond, she just wants to try and prove she's not the miserable person he saw lashing out at her mother anymore, nor the self-indulgent villain who put to death his noble ambitions.
It will take time... but it seems she has plenty of that on her hands these days.]