TheAmishPirate

Return to Thellamie

In the breath before the grand reveal, a single, magical word is spoken.

”Pardon?!”

And then - clap! Fwhoosh! Fwhoosh! Fwhoooooooosh!

Hazel rises to his feet, blue-white light glittering in his wide eyes. How did…? Where did…? For him? He can really? This is all for him? He looks down one rack, then looks the other way, then back again, but no, it’s the same either way. There’s no end to the line of clothes swaying on the rack in a dazzling rainbow of colors. They stretch far, far into the distance, past where he was pretty sure a wall used to be, vanishing into a blueish, white glow. If he stares long enough, he can start to make out little shapes in the flames, and their capering dances make his head a touch giggly. Like, like hiking in the mountains and stepping out onto a view so incredible, the only thing you can do is laugh in awe and amazement.

But magic aside, he has to pick out an outfit? One outfit, from all this? Where’s he even supposed to start? Do you pick up clothing this nice like normal clothes, or do you just pick them up by the hanger, or-

Her voice shakes the room, and he jumps with a startled yelp. No thank you ma’am, he does not want to be on a leash by morning! He would like zero leashes for the foreseeable future! See how much he’s nodding agreement! Okay! Yes! He’s-

“HeY!!!”

-stumbling out of swat range?! Abwughbhg?! Why?! Why was spanks a thing that could happen! What is the meaning of this! Explain, foxgirls! Explain!

no seli winking is not an explanation aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

He scampers into the nearest clothes rack. For hiding. For defense. For a place where the world makes a little more sense. For a place to bury his face in his hands and let out a long, muffled squeak, like a teakettle trying to keep a secret. But there was no time for letting off steam. They were on the clock. Focus, Hazel, focus! You gotta pick out a disguise! Quick! He looks around him, and. Huh.

Huh.

He peeks out of the clothes rack, but no, the nice lady is already leading Keli and Seli away, paying him no further mind. There’s been no more claps, or magical fwooshes, or anything. So how is it that the one clothes rack he happened to stumble into just so happened to have something so…so possibly wearable?

Could this also be a sort of magic?

Whoever she is, she must be an awfully clever magic…person. (Wizard didn’t sound right, sorceress was a little better, but still didn’t feel impressive enough, you know?)

Anyway! To the changing booth. With an armful of possibilities.

*****************************************

Huh.

Huuuuuuuuuuh.

You know.

He didn’t?

He didn’t hate it, actually?

It’s not something he’d usually wear, for sure. As if he ever thought of wearing - what is this, silk? Whatever it is, it’s really soft. Not in a cozy blanket sort of way. Smoother than that. Fancier than that. Quite a bit nicer than that.

The pants remind him of his jeans back home; they’re loose, and he can squat and stretch easy as pie in them. But where his jeans were a bit baggy, these wore their extra fabric in graceful, flowing arcs, down to his ankles. When he walked back and forth in front of the mirror, they had a sort of swishful bounce to them, trailing his own motions. He wasn’t sure if he tied the sash/belt/thing correctly, but it was a lot fancier than his own worn belt, and the fabric didn’t dig into him when he sat or bent down.

The shirt. The shirt had started on thin ice. Yes, it fit him tighter than any t-shirt he’d ever worn, somehow without feeling too tight. Yes, the material was nice and comfy against his chest and back. But the stomach. The stomach was. Hrm. Not. Flattering. Something looser would hide that a lot better.

But then he’d put on the, what was it called, a capelet? A capelet atop his shoulders, draped over his arms and chest. He got the sash belt figured out. And you know what? With everything put together? His tummy didn’t seem quite so bad. The loose fluttering of the capelet drew his eyes a little higher, obscured the unflattering sides just the right amount. And the sash, with its pattern of woven snake tails, was so eye-catching that he couldn’t notice his own waist properly.

Now, he didn’t know anything about this sort of fashion. Taking another look at it, he was positive he’d picked out at least one devastating fashion faux pas. But taking a third look at it, as he walked back and forth, and saw his pant legs swishing, saw the capelet fluttering, felt the smooth, cool fabric brushing against his skin, well, maybe he was pretty close to alright?

Maybe.

Possibly.

Well. One of the three of them would tell him if he was making a fool of himself, right? He’d have to ask about something to hide the horns anyway.

Nothing else for it.

They didn’t have much time.

Taking a deep, deep breath, Hazel Valentine Fletcher nudged the curtain back, and hesitantly left the safety of the booth.

Return to Thellamie

It’s instinctive, the holding still. Generally speaking, if somebody yanks you to the ground and claps their hands over your eyes and mouth, they probably have a pretty good reason for doing so, and most of those reasons call for holding very still and taking stock of the situation. The surprised “Mrmph!” is also instinctive. That can’t be useful for most of those reasons, but he’s two for two now, so it seems rather hard to keep from doing. The quiet that follows when the hands are removed is just good sense.

Yuki told him a lot about Thellamie. Whatever she didn’t tell him first, he was bound to ask about eventually. He knows about the stars in the sky and a star on the ground. He knows about maid knights, paladins, tricksters, magicians, singers, dancers, and quite a few people between. He knows about the Outside, portal stones, and a few things about the moon.

He doesn’t know who she is. He feels who she is. Which isn’t as helpful as a name in some circumstances, but not this one. He feels he should keep kneeling until she says it’s alright to get up. He feels he should take questions of how she got her and what’s going on, and tuck them someplace it won’t be a bother to her. He feels he shouldn’t question why she would trouble to help him either. As a matter of fact, he feels he shouldn’t say a word until she’s done speaking her piece, and until then he should sit here and look at her politely. Look at her suitably impressed-ly? Would she be offended by a quiet “wow?” Maybe hold off on that. Just look, for now. Look at…himself.

But the trick with feeling small is that thoughts can be as large as ever. As she speaks, a few old ones make themselves heard.

That's not him. The voice is the same. The height is probably the same. The face, uncertain. The antlers, he doesn't know them well enough to say. His chest isn't flat, toned, perfectly shaped, perfectly groomed, perfectly lean. His chest shouldn't be shown. He wouldn't wear a robe that low, and definitely not one so bright. On second thought, no, he wouldn't have that face either. Not a face so smoothed with makeup and eyeshadow framing his lashes. He - and that's just it; he's him. Ugly. Disgusting. Common. Trash.

They aren't him. They're close enough to see him. Far enough to be something and someone else.

"We do, ma'am," and it is ma'am. Of course it’s ma’am, for her. (Yukisearth, that’s home, right?) "We've got both those things. It's just that I haven’t ever looked like that in a mirror before. Which, it’s not to say it’s wrong, no. Nobody at the ceremony got close enough to get a good look at me, so they don’t know much beyond a boy with glowing antlers. Honestly, you’re probably what they’re expecting a Golden Fawn to look like, so, if you wanted to lead them off the trail, this should work better."

Maybe they’d really want to chase a prize like her.

Breathless Dead

Dolce holds the single sheet of paper with both hands. One on the upper-left, one on the lower-right, held at the correct distance to hold the scrap perfectly in tension. You don't hold important documents in the center. There you must press your thumbs into the document until it turns concave. The line between readability and a crease is knife-thin. Dolce does not crease the paper. Dolce does not wrinkle the paper. Dolce does not permit his breath to rustle the paper.

"Okay." Dolce says with his mouth.

Dolce turns in one step. Five steps, equal in distance, take him to his desk. He picks up his pen.

******************************

Vasilly had a wonderful voice. Glaive or tongue, do not ask him which she was more skilled with. To say that she could fill a room with her voice would be a gross understatement. Let him walk from one corner to the other, let him duck into cupboards or rifle through closets, let him go where he will and do what he will, her words would find him all the same. Let her breath caress his ear. Let her speak to the wind. It made no difference. Here she purrs, stretching luxuriously over her syllables. Dol~ce. How she tastes each sound. Here she runs, now here, now there, and back, and again, and again, and how could you keep from dancing to her rhythm? Hiding was pointless. She did not need to see you to know she had led you precisely where she meant to. Her next swipe would tap your guard where you cannot expect it. Her next feint would wind you up. One breath of silence, the illusion of safety, a precious chance to melt.

When he sank into her jaws, it was a formality. Her voice had already swallowed him whole.

******************************

Dolce stretches. He reaches for a fifth sheet of paper. His pen resumes the work.

"Please, do not feel as though you must stay on my account." He speaks without looking up. "This may take some time, but I will send word when I'm finished. I know how busy you are."

An invitation to step inside is noticeably absent. 20022 had to put the fruit bowl on the floor to hand him the paper.

Return to Thellamie

Hazel runs with all his might in the wrong direction.

He feels it, in the impact that runs through his body with each bounding step. The faint burn in his thighs and side that’s going to get much worse as soon as he really stops. He can’t hide it, the crack in his voice when he turns, just a smidge, to call back over his shoulder,

”I’m sorry!”

Later on, the feelings will have space to bloom into messy, complicated thoughts. But that’s later. Now, in the chase, there’s only time for simple. Direct. So simple, he hasn’t got the words all sorted out yet. It’s just things he knows. Things like…

The huntresses are the ones chasing him. The guards are the ones helping him. They, and Yuki, and Princess Sulochana (surely, obviously) could help him even more, if he could just get to the Viperiat. There’s danger that way. There’s people that way. Keli and Seli aren’t taking him that way. They can’t know everything he knows. Two people saw everything that happened. One of them is snoozing atop her terrace. He’s the only one left. And what is he saying?

“I think the guards are trying to help! There’s a bunch of Serigalamu hunters, they’re the ones after me! The guards were holding them back!”

And they’re running further and further away from the Viperiat.

It’ll get him out of the city. It’s not a bad idea.

It’s not the right way to go either.

Return to Thellamie

Oh no, had he forgotten?! It was, well, oh no, he hadn’t thought, but, was that true? Seeing them now, there’s an awful lack of surprise, like he expected them to be fine the whole time. There’s a lot of complex mathematics in that thought, flashes of a big misunderstanding sorted out multiplied by the inevitability of foxgirl escapes, to the power of everyone having bigger problems. But he’d also thought going down into Purnima’s house meant danger, so, that meant-

Ah. A tug at his arm. She wasn’t going to let go, huh.

That. Mghh.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t able to, there was a lot going on, and,” he shook his head, ears flopping a half step behind. “And. There’s no time to explain everything, and, there’s no. I know you’re. I think you’re. This really. This isn’t. Can we please.” He takes a breath because he’s got no more air left to keep trying to talk. Flushing. Not blushing. Not this time. “Please. I have to get out of Crevas before I ruin this festival for anyone else. I’m sorry. I. Can. I can ask Yuki to cover any previous expenses.” A howl sounds. Closer, now. His foot thumps anxious on the street. “It’s okay if you run now. But. Could. You could. Could you. You two. Run, good, and. And.”

And the haze in his head can only permit so much.

Keli!

You said he could be a princess someday.

There’s no smile on his face anymore. His face is mussed with sweat and dust. The voice that squeaked now cracks with the effort to ask the question his whole heart screams. He is so hopelessly out of his depth, and his only thought is to keep from being a bother to anyone, not least of all you and your sister.

He holds that purse like it’s the most precious thing in all of Thellamie.

You hold his trembling wrist.

You said he could be a princess someday.

What do you see today?

[Rolling to Entice Keli: 4 + 2 - 1 = 5, but that upgrades to a mixed beat because of Women Want Me, Fish Fear Me]

Breathless Dead

It is still some time before the engagement begins in earnest. The Biomancers are hard at work around the clock, and Dolce is hard at work during normal business hours, because if lack of sleep causes a lapse in the dining service disaster will ensue.

“My…temporary nemesis, will not let me stray far once we find them. I think, if I were in his shoes, it would be far easier to simply restrict my movements and actions rather than try to figure out what I was doing. He will certainly not let me leave the ship; I can think of no excuse that he would accept. Nor is there any function of the Service that could compel him to let me go at such a critical moment.”

Thus, there will be no lapse in the dining service. His order forms are rerouted the moment they leave his desk, helpfully filtered through several stages of quality checking for overtaxed supplies, inventory management, and disagreeable menu items. Precisely eight hours after he attends to his duties, he will be given an invitation to dine with 20022, after which they will take a refreshing stroll back to his quarters. No doors or desks are locked. He is an honorary member of the Service in honorary good standing, and so, to lock him away would be unthinkable. It is a testament to 20022’s diligence and good planning that he still has so many resources to spend on looking after his junior.

“That said, he has no way of knowing if I even want to leave. His authority ends at my office, as it were. To pry into my doings, that would require time, paperwork, and a reasonable suspicion that could stand up to outside scrutiny. He will be much too busy for that. Without any way of knowing for sure, I think he will settle for waiting, and watching for the slightest clue of mischief. Should he spot one, he may make my life rather difficult.”

Dolce’s evenings are spent as peacefully as they can, under the circumstances. He reads. He writes letters. He chats with Sanalessa over herbal teas, to what end, no one really knows for sure, but he is quite consistent about asking for his tea things in the evening. It is important to keep close tabs on such a dangerous resource, isn’t it?

“Since we do very badly want to leave, I think it would be best if it was not my idea.”

Tonight, someone knocks at the door.

There is the chink of cup meeting saucer. A rustle of wool and papers. A click. Dolce opens the door wide.

“Hello? Oh, it’s you-”

They are all the words he’s allowed.

Return to Thellamie

This is the biggest Birstake in the history of birds, everywhere.

Him? The Golden Fawn? No, sorry, he’s Hazel. From Earth. You’ve probably never heard of him. Which makes a lot of sense why you might not realize he’s not all that, prophetically speaking. Wait, was this actually a case of mistaken identity? Was there supposed to be a different deerboy getting a wet crow to the antlers, but he’s here instead and now a prophecy’s been ruined forever by wrong place wrong time?

That’s a neat thought. He’ll come back to it later, there are more important things happening right now, like aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

He makes an undignified scramble out of the now-loose coils, and the only mercy is that nobody can clearly see this part. It’s like trying to crawl around in a bouncy castle; no purchase anywhere, and every other step the ground gives way and you go bum over teakettle. When at last he finds solid ground again, it’s another fumble to tug the sash down, and get the gag out of his mouth. Patooie! Which is almost certainly enough time for a wolfgirl to climb a tower and be about to pounce on him. Better peek so he at least sees his doom coming for him.

On the plus side, he’s not immediately captured, or peppered with heart-arrows. Downside, the huntresses won’t be stymied by the city guard forever, and one or both of those things will surely follow. Worst of all, neither of those facts have really sunken in, as each fresh scream sends his heart to yet-unexplored depths of mud. All this, because he got caught. Because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Because-

“Better get going! Awk! Awk!”

“Yes! Yes! I know! I’m going!”

“Eh, doesn’t look like it!”

“It’s a work in progress!”

Right. Okay. Feel sad later, make an escape now. Escape to where, exactly? Down was no good, down had at least two snakes, that is two too many. The plaza? No, no, no, plaza is all kinds of bad. And his thoughts might’ve continued on these pathways until time and awks forced him to one bad decision or the other. But starlight does funny things to a fellow, especially one who’s never had so much as a sip, and the Crow of Destiny hadn’t asked before giving him a whole bird-ful. As his eyes danced beneath the glow of his antlers, they saw fascinating possibilities in a rope tied to the tall tower, and the sparkly light jacket that Purnima had dropped in her sudden snooze…

Hunters!

As your heartblades sing and dance with the city guard’s, there’s a glimmer of movement up above. Sorry, scratch that, there’s a whole dazzle of movement up above.

“Hey!!!!”

With a novel battle cry, the Golden Fawn wraps a spangly bit of fabric around a rope holding up some of the festival banners, the light from his antlers now positively radiant, and-

”Aughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!”

-well, he doesn’t particularly zip on down, there’s far too much friction, and it’s a struggle to get past the banners without getting completely tangled up in them, but he does stagger his way down quite admirably.

“Stop fighting! I’m running away now!”

“...please don’t chase me!”

Then he’s falling the last few feet, windmilling his arms wildly to keep from eating pavement, and he’s off at a bouncing run to the far end of the plaza and the city beyond it. Away from the crowds, away from the festival, away from anything that he could possibly put between himself and the pack. Nothing but winding streets, the dark of night, and his glowing antlers.

Well. Perhaps you’ll be sporting and fulfill one of those requests?

[Rolling to Defy Disaster (Grace) to protect the crowds, risking his own safety, taking -1 from Women Want Me, Fish Fear Me: 1 + 3 + 2 - 1 = 5. Oops!]

Return to Thellamie

a boywhAT

That’s, what? What? What? What?! His lashes? His eyes?! What about them? How? Why? What? Adorable?!

“Mrrmmmph!!!”

But he couldn’t ask a one of those very reasonable questions. Not with all this fabric to talk through. Double especially not with her thumb? Pressing the cloth to his lips??? Goodness, she was. Firm. On his lips. On his earrrrrrrrrrrrr oh oh oh that’s the spot. Um. That is to say, he had to figure it out on his own, which he could definitely do if he just. Blinked. Enough? That seems reasonable. Blink enough times and the eye secrets will surely be revealed b e a u t i f u l ?!

No! Wait! See! This is! It’s just! She’s! She’s trying to butter you up! She wants you melting and blushing so you won’t try to escape! It’s a trick! She doesn’t mean it! Don’t listen to her Hazel!

“Mrrrrrrrrr…”

The coils are…definitely, also, probably, a trick. A trick she isn’t even thinking about. That’s what makes it so tricky. She probably isn’t even paying attention to his breathing, the way the squeezing lines up to the rise and fall of his bound chest. Or, was it his breathing being squeezed into rhythm? In. And press. And hold. Out. And release. In a wave. Alllll down his body. He pants, and huffs, and fights to keep his heart racing. Hold on to the adrenaline of the earlier chase. He’s still in danger. Don’t let go. Don’t let her squeeze the tension out of him. Don’t. Ngghhhh. Don’t sigh as she. Drains it away. As muscles melt. In. He clenches his jaw. And press.

“Mmmmmmmm-!”

It’s a trick, Hazel. She’s just saying that to tease you. She’s just squeezing you to wear you out. She’s just. Looking to…

Looking to what? Looking for what? Why is she looking at him like that? She’s not saying, which is unfortunate, because looks don’t explain themselves either. But they say so much. They could say so much. It’s a look for him. She’s looking at him. With intent. Golden eyes focusing sharp. Pupils drinking him in, so deep, even his reflection vanishes in them. Taking him in. Flicker flick, licking lips. Pointed smirk. Possessive. Glittering.

Hungry.

Oh…it’s bronze. Like the participation medals for sports day. But, warm, like a campfire, so, so warm…

And then he’s breaking the surface, gasping for air as she rips her gaze away, only for the breath to be pushed from him anew. Wasn’t that what made the coils tricky? That she didn’t have to think about them? Freed from her grip his head lolls against the cool scaled wall of her body. Down below there’s…something? Lights? People running around? She’s looking at that now, and he’s looking too, but it’s hard to follow as she squishes him mercilessly.

“Mrrpmrrrr…”

His muffled voice drowns in the hubbub from below.

“Mrrpmrrrr, mmmphhhh, mrr mpphh mrrrrr….mmmmpphhh…mrrmphmprrr…”

Yuki, Yuki, please, come save me…please…anyone…

Can Yuki hear him? Can anyone hear him? Doesn’t matter. Not worth thinking about. The sounds spill out of him, broken only by panting and helpless squirming.

Breathless Dead

Had he? The Manor had quite the extensive, ancient library, and many of its treasures were open to the staff provided they left no marks and did not neglect their duties. Diomedes…was the name familiar, or did it just rhyme pleasantly with more popular figures? “I do not know. I will need some time to think and reflect. If I go hunting for more information, that may help me recall more clearly.”

It doesn’t feel right. Probably because it isn’t. By all rights Sanalessa ought to be here for a conversation about her own future. You know, all of her, voice included. The galaxy’s deadliest warrior wanted to see her sisters again. She wanted to live. She wanted to be free. What right did he have to take that from her? Who was he to decide that she *had* to join him on this hunt, wherever it eventually led him?

Somebody who’d Demeter had given a gift to. And didn’t that still feel like a shortcoming on his part?

He doesn’t speak until he’s confident his voice won’t crack. “If you say it is necessary to. Take. Her. Then I will trust in your promise. You have said you would prevent me from any unnecessary sacrifice. I will trust that is so.” Folded hands hide white knuckles. “It would be improper of me to treat a gift from a goddess with carelessness and scorn. But society has given me few examples of how one should behave to your Assassin. Please. If you will tell me the regulations and the protocols, I will follow them.”

The pupil maintains strict attention on a goddess, patiently waiting as she peruses her thin, carefully-typed paper.

Return to Thellamie

Did you know? If you let your eyes unfocus juuuuuuust so, and let your head flop back and forth as coils thick as your whole entire body squeeze you silly, you can see secret creatures in the ceiling colors? It’s true! He’s just spent…several? Probably several instructive minutes making a close study of the subject. He’ll have a paper out next month. It’ll flip the whole world upside-down. Or rightside-up, if it was already flipped wrong. Now that he’s got that sorted out, he can tackle the next item on his to-unpack list. It’s a very good list. One of his favorites. Excellent work, under the circumstances. Now let’s see here, ah! Yes, of course. One teeny tiny itty bitty question to tackle:

Was the gagging supposed to make him squirm?

Like, okay, the gag makes sense. He’s caught, she doesn’t want him talking, gags are very common here, that all tracks. But there was an awful lot of production around the choice of material. He thought maybe he was naughty because he didn’t let her hypnotize him, but was he actually naughty because this is Seli’s sash and veil? Both? Maybe a bit of both? He guessed? Resisting her, of course that’d be naughty to her. But why’s the sash and veil naughty? Seli was just wearing them, yes, but so what? How was this any different from borrowing a coat? Was it a heat thing? A smell thing? Was it supposed to be taboo because she was just wearing them, and didn’t want to give them up? Sooooo, borrowing a coat without asking first? That is a bit of a power play. She’s making him borrow her coat without asking. And maybe she’s playing like it was all his idea, like he’d wanted her sash and veil the whole time. For smell, or for her just wearing it, something like that. There’s options, the specific answer isn't all that important. He can see the underlying theory. Feels like it’d be more potent if she picked something other than a veil and a sash, but then again, if she’d chosen something more intimate that would’ve been a bit much. Ugh, didn’t bear thinking about.

Anyway.

“Mmmpphhh!!!!” Hazel’s muffled, panicked squeaks rang out through the empty halls, wavering as he shook helplessly in her iron grasp. And then they fell even quieter as he buried his face in faintly cool coils. The only defense of a goofball. Hide away from his tormentor. They can’t see him, they don’t exist. Flawless logic.

It’d be better if he knew how to flop his ears down over his face, that would be a nice touch. But he works with what little he’s got. Moments like this, you’ve got to do something. It’d be odd if he didn’t.

Almost as odd as thinking he was Yuki’s husband??!? Excuse me? What? Why?! Oh gosh, that wasn’t the rumor around here, was it? Yuki-

Yuki.

The plaza.

The ceremony!

On the one hand; he had successfully made it to the plaza, where Yuki could, in theory, spot him and rescue him. On the other hand; if Yuki were to see him right now he would Die Forever. Tough choice, touch choice. No, wait, not a tough choice! Not a tough choice at all! This lady - Purnima? - was up to no good, and was planning on using him, to get to Yuki, to get to Princess Sulochana, to get to all of Crevas!

Oh no. Was this a Market War?!

He had to escape. If he could convince her this was all a case of mistaken identity, maybe she’d let him go? Or at least let him go enough to reach his tablet, get a message out to Yuki, warn her of the danger before it was too late. He just. Had to. Work his jaw just so, and. Not chomp on the sash while he…

“Mrrr!”

Okay, not. The most clear, but he can work with that.

“Mmphh? Mm mrr?”

Did she get any of that? Any of that at all? No, no, doesn’t look like it. She’s not even looking at him. Just, rubbing his antlers. Still.

“Mmphh? Mmphh! Mrrrph, mr mpphh-!”

Huh. He could feel her rubbing his antlers. That was. A new feeling.

“Mrr? Mrrr…mrr…m-mrrrrrrr~”

O-oh. Um.

Okay! Apparently! Antlers can feel! And ears can feel even more! That doesn’t change anything! Not one bit! Even if it does feel kinda nice and there’s a funny tingling in his spine threatening to turn all his bones to wiggly jelly, you do not! Ear rub privileges are a sacred thing! And, he doesn’t want them from somebody who’s plotting against Yuki and Princess Sulochana, especially not somebody who thinks he’s her husBAnD?! A fact which she would know if she would just! Listen!

“Mmmph! Mm mrp mrr mrrpmrrrphh!”

Golly it’s hard to talk like this!!!