"Don't let confidence blind you, Caleb. Stay safe." Emer said, and he let out a chuckle.
"Won't make that mistake again." he gestured towards the cloth covering the right half of his face. It'd been long enough that he could joke about it, even though he'd grieved over the loss of his eye for months after it happened. Caleb nodded at the sylph's request to keep others safe. He'd do what he could, as he had for the past decade.
The conversation was cut short after the captain's words. They were close, which meant it was time to scout the area before their arrival. Caleb used to do it by himself until Alys joined the crew. Six months had passed and he still wasn't sure what her deal was, but she'd made it clear he wasn't it. He'd learned to not flirt while she was armed, just in case.
"I'll catch you later. Don't die." He waved at the both of them and flew away, searching for the other fairy with wings on the ship.
A virtue that Alys had always battled to practice. Yes, she'd once waited years before striking, biding her time for an opportune moment. As the years passed, as her skill level grew, that hunger became difficult to manage. There had been times where it overcame her, and she was forced to leave something good behind. She didn't want that happening again. Not this time, not with this crew.
This crew, it seemed, fit together well. There were a couple characters who seemed to rock the boat on occasion, merely with their presence or boisterous personality, but it was all contained by the captain, one way or another. Most of the others though, they were easy to get along with. Ciarán, albeit tough, was a fair trainer when she first arrived. Sliocht boosted morale. Emer and Nessa kept her sane among the testosterone. After her first raid on the High Nox, when she looked a little rough around the edges, the cook had slipped her an extra piece of bread. They brought back more than any other ship she'd serviced, and it was because the backbone of the ship had been together for so long. 10 years. Practically a third of her life. She couldn't imagine knowing people for so long. That's why she had to be careful.
Today, her patience (or lack thereof) stemmed from the excitement. The eagerness to get down there and plunder, to take a small cut of the reward, to get wildly drunk and eat her fill. Nothing more, and she expected nothing less.
She paced among the group of raiders, weapons gleaming and strapped in place, silent but eager. She'd occasionally stop and look over the railing, watch as the faint, twinkling lights below signaled their proximity. Then she'd sit for a moment, twiddling with her prized blade. Like a newborn babe, it didn't take long before it'd be dirtied and in need of a wash.
"Well - keep an eye out for trouble, then," Emer replied to Caleb, her lips quirking into a slight smirk. It was nice to see him lighthearted. When he'd first lost his eye, he'd been bitter. Who wouldn't, to lose something so integral to who they were? A sure-shot and a scout, suddenly down to half the sight he'd had before. He'd taken a while to joke about it, but it was a good sign when he had - humor, after all, was as good a medicine as any tonic, if more for the spirit than the body.
Caleb soon departed, off to prepare, and moments later, the captain called for Nessa.
"Time draws short. You'd best answer," she said, patting the girl on the shoulder. "And remind me to make you a quick spot of tea before we land. Something to perk you up at this dreadful hour."
Emer winked, then let her depart, instead moving down past to the deck proper. As she slipped between bustling sailors, bursting with fervor and cheer, her smile faltered slightly - still present, still warm, but taking on a somber edge. They were all so excited. How could they be, with this tension? She didn't understand, even on simpler days, how men and women like this could look their deaths in the face and grin. Perhaps it was the freedom of it all. If they survived, riches beyond their dreams, and if they died, they died in the heat of the moment, living a life with no regrets. There was no weight to lift but that of their own guns and blades. However, there was one among the crew who - if this ill feeling befit what fate had planned - would share in her burden. He stood alone, now, saw in hand, finger tracing rivets along the teeth - one duty to the crew fulfilled, another on the horizon. She placed a cold hand on his arm as she settled beside him.
"Good morning, Sliocht. I see the blade is already bared?"
She sighed between teeth clenched against the cold.
From up above, the pair of baby-blue wings were easy to spot. Caleb landed gracefully in front of the girl who sat with her blade in hand and put his arm forward, offering to help her up.
"We're close. Should we take a look around?" He asked, but as quartermaster of the ship, it was more of an order of service.
Besides his trusted rifle, Caleb counted with a short sword, a pistol and a flare gun, which had as one of it's uses to let the captain know if it was clear for the ship to land. Ever since he joined the crew that'd been his job, but he felt like it was beneath him for a while now. If Alys proved to be trustworthy he planned on passing the task down to her. Only time would tell.
“The storm, say? Does have its own way of leeching the warmth.” Nessa muttered, her gaze fallen to the clamor below as Emer bade Caleb to exercise a healthy dose of caution, though how much the man would listen was known only to him and the Goddess behind. What would come to things she’d not learn until the storm would call them back to the Nox, though that was just the shape of things.
The captain’s call drew her eye away. Medical supplies was it? As good as gold to a dying man, though perhaps with less glamor. Nessa turned back to her companions as Caleb took his leave, putting his eye to use to see what the taxmen had prepared in their own defense. She offered him a wave and a spot of good luck as the latter had its own premium to it just before a raid.
“That sounds lovely. Would be most appreciative if you have the time.” Nessa said, to Emer offering one of her energizing tonics. A touch of edge would serve her well. She gave the sylph a smile as placed her hand atop the one Emer pat her shoulder with before taking her leave. “Aye, be well.”
It struck her, as Emer made her departure, that she should have asked if there was any ingredient in particular that the slyph needed most, though she could always make a guess. Those that thickened the blood were always in demand, and as sweet the smell and tempting the taste Nessa wasn’t one to treat her crewmates as a personal feast. Something for infection would serve the crew well, as well as something to numb the pain — grog was good for many things but pain was not chief among them. Sliocht too had his own needs for his bloody work, if she’d the time to catch his ear.
Nessa kept her footwork soft as she made her way to the helm. It was less a game, trying to see how close she could manage, and more brushing off the last of the cobwebs to turn her mind the proper way round. Sinéad had her own way of keeping a watchful eye, the hourglass was one Nessa knew. But that one was easy enough, large and polished, clear to one with an eye for things that it gave a good view. Of the other instruments, Nessa wasn’t quite as sure, but they served the captain well without a doubt. There was some small grace with her now, Lucian and Soren would create blind spots, ones she’d try to keep herself within.
She kept soft, picking a careful path where wood scarcely creaked. Soren large and she small so she made his reflection hers in the hourglass as she closed half the distance. She paused there, with an introductory clear of her throat. “Lucian, Soren, Ciarán, Cap’n, good day.” She said, biting back a yawn. “Manor that big’ll have something. Question though, want me to leave just enough to mend their broken, or take all I can hold?”
Last Edit: Jan 30, 2023 17:49:30 GMT by UmbraSight
//... into the dark she stepped, but never did she feel free of the gaze...//
The quiet, and all too familiar sound of fluttering wings alerted Alys to the Quartermaster's arrival. Her gaze lifted, while her long fingers slid the blade into the sheath fastened tightly around her thigh. "You got it, boss," she drawled out, opting to accept his hand to hoist herself up. The corners of her lips lifted into a slight smile because she knew that it was nearly time. Time for that epinephrine to pump through her veins, for the raid and all that it came with to begin.
She didn't know how she got stuck with this job - or why. She suspected it started because the Quartermaster had the impressive ability to flirt with anything that walked, but perhaps it ended with an appreciation for her nimble frame and quiet skill with a knife. In the past, before her arrival on the High Nox, Alys' contributions involved the bare minimum. She'd give her all in the areas she was useful in; often during raids or battles, or in the general maintenance of the ship. But she never had ambitions to climb the ranks. Perhaps it brought more loot and power, but it threatened her ability to blend in, to remain forgettable or anonymous. It would eventually make it harder for her to disappear. That didn't mean she wasn't expendable - she most certainly was. Almost everyone was.
The pair lifted off and plunged into the clouds below. Cold mist covered the freckled skin of her face with a layer of dewy moisture, and although it was a welcome sensation, Alys used the back of her hand to wipe her brow. As the lights of the city began to flicker more brightly, she glanced over at Caleb. "Anything I should know about this one?" Despite having been assigned this role, she was still green enough to be kept out of the need-to-know, inner circle.
Of course the Captain merely saw any troubles coming as mere obstacles, waiting to be twisted into an inevitable advantage. She had always done that, at least for as long as Lucien had served her. This was not the first time she had cautioned him of potential uprisings against her. She had no fantasies of him taking it down from within, she knew how little the rest of the crew trusted him. No, if he had to guess as to the reason, the Captain knew that if Lucien wanted to betray her, he either would have either done it already, or at the very least would not be collaborating. Which naturally would be correct. She was formidable, yes, but Lucien was not so cowed that he would go to the likes of Caleb for assistance.
Lucien’s reverie was interrupted by the Captain’s further comments about their raid. Guards, undoubtedly pulled from the capitol or from the various mercenary cesspits that had tried killing him all those years ago. Back when his mere existence was a cause for fear, not his reputation upon a ship. A smirk flitted across his face as he returned the nod, the unspoken meaning carrying between them, master and monster.
Fair game. Fresh meat.
Lucien didn’t react to the oaf’s arrival, merely wrinkling his nose slightly at the stench of ground wheat, yeast, and rot. Food never sat well with him after his transformation, especially those with no sign of life, former or current. Footsteps caught his ears, soft, subtle. A barely audible yawn before she cleared her throat. Lucien turned to see his younger counterpart. She was barely into her new life, especially when compared to him. He felt a small connection to her, one that he could mostly ignore. However, sometimes her inexperience made him step him. Lucien reached to his hip, unhooking a small silver flask, turning towards Nessa while extending his arm.
“Take a sip. It will serve you well.”
Last Edit: Jan 30, 2023 1:22:50 GMT by HighVoltage
Soren simply grunted and nodded every so slightly. His way of agreeing with her orders. Not that he didn't appreciate her word of thanks, but he knew she'd prefer he got straight to the task than waste time on returning words. No good if the men starved halfway through the fight. Although, the food he whipped up was meant for their return and far more heavy than what Sinead had in mind. Which meant he'd need to procure something else to hold over the crew until their arrival and subsequent raid. Soren simply rolled his shoulders once, finding his task here done and time for him to move on. As he began to turn around, he heard steps behind him before meeting face to face with Nessa. The little elf. A simple deep breath escaped him, rumbling throughout his body and even into the very ground itself. What was she doing, trying to be all sneaky-like?
He simply extended a hand out to ruffle her hair a little before he lumbered past her.
"Stay safe."
The only other person he acknowledged was Ciarán. A small nod of both greeting and passing was sent toward the gunner's way. As for Lucien, Soren found it best to not give the man any real acknowledgment. The vampiric individual was Sinead's personal lapdog. It be best if the vampire believed he even had a giant under his thumb.
Soren kept walking down the set of stairs before disappearing below the decks once more. Only a few minutes had gone before a large crate came into view, followed by Soren's head and shoulders. Carrying over one such large shoulder, Soren held huge wood barrel easily within his tree-trunk arms. Before setting it down with a mighty crash upon the deck. Loud enough to draw the attention of most. The only thing that may have been louder was how his voice boomed afterward.
"Everyone. Eat. Grab an apple."
Not bothering to use a crowbar or any other means to open it, Soren simply took the lid off with a few centimeters worth of leverage. The lid held in his grasp and he set it away before displaying inside an assortment of the fruit. While it may not have been coffee or tea, apples would be filling enough and held enough sugar to help wake up anyone feeling a little under the weather. No risk of anyone being lulled into a sense of malaise over these fine fruit.
Putting on a pair of clean gloves and picking up two apples, both within the palm of one hand rather easily, Soren simply stalked forward before raising an eye at the two flying fairies. Caleb and Alys. The two must have been scouting ahead. No matter, they would return and have their share. Especially Caleb. His thoughts carried themselves over to the more grounded and level-headed members of the crew.
His footsteps were heavy with each step, moving forward and paying little heed to anything else. Sure, his eyes would glance about. That old warrior's trait of minding his surroundings and listening. But his task here was to bring these apples to two individuals. Sliocht and Emer.
His frame shadowed over them as he simply extended one arm out, holding the apples out for them. One for each of the pair.
"For you both. No fighting on an empty stomach."
His eyes slowly glanced over to Emer, "Or working on those medicines."
Soren rather not have their resident medic to suffer from a lack of sleep or a lack of food when her tasks were usually the most crucial. Thankfully, he was not easy to injure. Perhaps that would be of some small weight off her shoulders. His gaze simply returned back to the group, only allowing his gaze to falter to the blade Sliocht held. Soren never let the man touch a hair on his head. Partly due to tradition and partly due to Soren not caring if his appearance look a little wild and unkempt despite how he may tie up his hair or smooth his beard. It only added to the image of someone not worth bothering too much.
And, if he was honest, that was more or less the goal of who to be for him.
Last Edit: Jan 30, 2023 3:14:04 GMT by Paperbag Fill
A storm was brewing, that much they knew. They... No, she, for today, at least, could feel it in the air, the pent up energy, longing for release. A feeling all too familiar, a feeling all too tempting. She wondered if it was drawn to her, the wild, reckless, destructive storms, a sort of karmic retribution for the past, or if this was just life trying to tempt them once again with the prospect of forces beyond her control, but only slightly. Instead of sitting on these thoughts, she pulled her robes tighter around themself, readjusting their glasses, before grabbing the staff leaning on the wall nearby, a tool of the trade and one of few things that made their job easier. Grasping it tightly, Juniper went to the top deck, longing for fresh air and to no longer be alone with the ambient electricity, thinking it best to distract herself by at least watching everyone prepare for... Whatever it was that was going to happen today.
And how could something not? There was a great storm brewing, of course it would mean something for the High Nox. More convenient a cover could not be found in the dreaded skies, and the two had nearly become synonymous at this point. At least, Juniper thought so, as she ascended the stairs and stepped into the open air, feeling it rush by freely as they took a deep, long breath, calming their nerves. She took a look around, assessing who was out and about.
'Let's see, the Captain, of course, with Lucien and Nessa... Oh there go Caleb and Alys, just missed them... Oh! Apples!'
With the mere sight of the fruit, she walked over and plucked one from the top of the stack. She found everything harder to control and manage on an empty stomach, and doubly so when everyone's lives were at risk. Best to play it safe and have a nice, early meal.
He most certainly did. Emer shared a similar duty, and he knew she understood. The raiders, the ones who fought, they drove forwards with adrenaline and anger to fuel their hearts in battle. To keep that fire burning on willpower alone, to drive yourself forwards on the tinder of nothing but duty was an altogether different task. Still, it subtly unnerved him how effortlessly Emer seemed to be able to peer behind the curtain of his thoughts.
"Yes, I certainly do. The air tastes bloody today". He pondered for a moment, thinking on Emer's question in more detail. Did she share the same uncertainties about today? If any others would have noticed, she would have been one of them.
"Something's up, too. It feels like we're all staring down a badger as the wolf slips closer".
He felt the cook's approach as much as heard it. Sliocht knew that Soren could be quiet when he wanted to, and evidently now was not one of those times. He quickly returned to his cheerful stoicism, not keen to draw attention to his many misgivings. "For you both. No fighting on an empty stomach."
The cook's presence was a welcome one, a distraction from matters at hand. Whether the food came from a place of compassion or duty, Sliocht was not sure, but the fruits seemed reasonably fresh. Reaching out and taking a bite out of the outstretched gift did wonders to improve his mood, as the apples were sweet and firm.
"Many thanks, big fellow" he said, flashing a winning smile to the ship's behemoth culinarian as he took another bite.
"You are a violent and irrepressible miracle. The vacuum of cosmos and the stars burning in it are afraid of you. Given enough time you would wipe us all out and replace us with nothing — just by accident."
The look of uncertainty on the barber's normally joyful face spoke volumes enough. Emer's lip curled, eyes turning to the horizon, to the roiling dark that crept into the sky, to the places where the sun had been smothered by clouds.
"Well-put," she said, nodding slowly. "There's a chill about, and little to do with the weather. I can feel it in my bones, Sliocht, and truth be told, it frightens me. There's always blood spilt with these things, but something about today -"
The arrival of the ship's cook cut her sentence short. She hastily smiled as if the worried frown was a shameful secret, then held out her hand for the apple - craning her neck back to meet the friendy giant's eye.
"Thank you, Soren. It would do us little well to skip our breakfast, hm?" She took a small bite, but didn't take another, feigning an appetite she currently lacked. "I'm glad to see you're keeping the crew fed and healthy. Tell me, do you have plans for supper yet? I do hope you'll make those little rolls again sometime soon."
Her gaze shifted to Sliocht for a moment, words unspoken - a promise that their shared worry was still on her mind.
He jumped out of the ship by the brunette's side and dived through the clouds, until they were hovering over long fields of crops. The town could be seen in the horizon.
"Have you ever been to Fen Manor?" He asked, but shrugged prior to getting an answer. "I won't be surprised if you haven't, it's quite a small town. But the lord who owns it is rich, and the land is fertile. They should have stockpiles of tax payments ready for the taking". He smiled at her. If there was one thing he'd figured out about Alys so far was that she enjoyed the adrenaline rush of a raid.
As they approached the city's entrance, Caleb grabbed Aly's wrist and pulled her towards the treeline by the hill on the west border of Fen Manor. Despite both of them being skilled at silencing people who might notice their arrival, it was best to avoid a commotion - until the ship landed, that is.
Hidden amongst the foliage on top of the hill they could have a better look at the town square. There were at least a dozen armed men surrounding the piles of gold and produce, and a line of citizens delivering what they had - from golden coins to sheep, depending on their labor and capital.
Caleb sat at a tree branch and took the flare gun out of it's holster, twirling it 'round his finger (as per usual) before handing it over to Alys.
"Wanna give it a go?" He asked. "You gotta fly back up, shoot when you've passed the clouds."
Post by Paperbag Fill on Jan 30, 2023 16:24:33 GMT
Soren only hear bits and pieces, but he paid no mind. Best to not make assumptions about what they said, but rather to study the manner in which they spoke. The giant watched as the barber and the medicine woman each took an apple. His eyes studied them both, remaining silent as they each took a bite. Sliocht's mood changed considerably. Soren simply felt amused within his mind's eye. Good food helped one's mood and mind, and nature often held some of the best. Some folk just took it for granted when in fact nature and mind often held a deeper connection that most thought.
Speaking of nature, there was also the nature of the being. His nature was to be succinct.
"Hm," Soren simply grunted and nodded once towards the barber. His attention shifted over to the sylph and he simply let a similar yet disapproving rumble out of his thraot in reply to the medicine woman while shaking his head once both ways.
"No, it would not."
One eyebrow slightly raised. A small thing as she surprised him with her inquiry as to his cooking. No one asked him much in the way of questions when it came to his cooking. Mostly because it did not matter if they knew or not. Why? They would eat or they would starve, but good for them he was an excellent cook. Something he could take a small amount of pride in. So Soren would tell Emer what he told everyone who asked him that same question a dozen times over
"You will eat what I make," Soren replied curtly. His arms crossed over his chest. Arms perhaps bigger than Emer's own head. Even his hands may have been bigger than her head.
Still, an nearly imperceptible twist of a smirk on the edge of his lips followed, like fog disappearing on a mirror.
"But yes. There will be those rolls."
It did not take any particularly perceptive wit to understand how taxing these raids tended to be on her. And when he noticed how she simply seemed to beam a little when enjoying those rolls? Well, it became a little bit of a tradition to make those bread rolls after raids. It was the men and women who looked after the injured that needed the most help. A lesson learned in his homeland where people like her were highly valued. Why make exception here?
"Would you like to learn how to make them?"
He could sense the unease, no matter how Emer might mask it. He supposed Sliocht was better at it. The beaming smile acted a much better cover than her softer smiles. In a way, this was the best he could offer to perhaps alleviate her mind. Perhaps stress before the battle. Should he ask? Was it in his nature to? It may be best to keep to himself.
"Is there . . . " Soren's eyes narrowed, finding the right words, "something troubling either of you?"
He simply waited for a response. Whether he get anything of substance or truth was another matter entirely.
Last Edit: Jan 30, 2023 16:25:19 GMT by Paperbag Fill
Lord. Rich. Stockpiles of tax payments ready for the taking.
Ah, it was like music to Alys' ears. Crazy to think that 15-year-old Alys would have had an aneurysm upon hearing those words. Good thing that girl was long gone.
She shrugged - because truthfully, she wasn't sure whether she'd been here before - and matched his smile with a mischievous grin. The fairies fell into a comfortable silence as they flew over the bountiful fields of crops, which eventually turned to gravel, then cobblestone. Alys' pale blue eyes took in the charming town, specifically the distant roads and alleys that led away from the city centre. She always liked to have her own escape plan - in case something happened and she needed to leave on foot. But before she could get a closer look, Caleb wrapped a hand around her wrist and pulled her diagonally.
She sucked in a small breath of surprise but followed after him towards the highest vantage point, which also happened to be concealed by heavy greenery. Taking a seat beside Caleb, Alys peaked between the branches to observe the town square below. Armed guards lined the square, as expected, but the line of civilians meant a possible increase in innocent casualties.
She glanced towards Caleb as he twirled the flare gun effortlessly around his finger before handing it to her. Her fingertips ran over the smoothness of the gun until she held it comfortably in her dominant hand. Meanwhile, her mind ran rampant. Goddammit, she didn't want this job. She didn't want more expectations or responsibilities. She wanted to do what she usually did. But hell, what could she do? Say no? She could use it to shoot Caleb in the other eye, but that'd likely result with her head on a spike. That is, if the captain cared at all for her Quartermaster. On the other hand, when he wasn't annoying her or flaunting his status in her face, she found him rather amusing (albeit a rarity).
"Who? Little ol' me?" She said, tilting her head slightly. Why, what an honor, she wanted to add, but decided against it. Excessive taunting, no matter how tempting, would get her nowhere. "You got it, boss," she once again drawled out before shooting away from the town square and up.
Up, up, until she felt the clouds envelope her and the moisture stick to her face. Up and up until she breached the top. Arm extended to the sky, eyes staring down the bow of the High Nox. Her finger pulled the trigger and the flare shot out of the barrel, silently rising up above the ship until it reached it's peak.
The time drew near. It was becoming more and more important that each man and woman prepare themselves and take their places to be ready for the forthcoming raid.
So, of course, Caleb and Alys jumped off the ship.
"Blight-winged narcissistic rat-fucking fairies!"
Of all the irresponsible idiots - and Caleb should have known better. This close to the town, it was entirely possible that their antics would tip off the people below, and merely because the idiot lad was so desperate for a bit of attention from someone pretty that he was willing to compromise the raid for a hope of a bit of action.
"If he doesn't die in this raid and I don't kill him myself, someone take that boy to a whorehouse and keep him there until he gets it out of his system." This irritated mutter was quickly overwritten by a deep breath and a return to professionalism. Sinéad had a town to raid, after all, and she wasn't going to let anything get in the way of that.
"Helmsman, take the wheel. Steady as she goes. Thirty minutes. Soren, go fetch the drop-candies and pass them out." No pirate ship didn't have a barrel of hard candy or chews of some sort to give out to the crew members when they came down from a height. The sudden changes in pressure were hard on the ear, and while sometimes dealing with that was a simple necessity, for a raid she wanted everyone properly oriented the moment their feet hit the ground.
She left the aileron wheel to the helmsman's care for a moment and returned to her own cabin to prepare herself for the town below. Ship's attire was often markedly different than land attire - it got cold up in the sky and clouds, and warm clothes and cloaks were often needed for standing on the deck. On a raid, though, the most important thing was freedom of movement and making sure nothing interfered with one's ability to stab someone in the throat if they needed it.
In Sinéad's case: loose-fitting pants, with enough flexibility that she could kick a man's nose up into his brain while standing on the ground. Boots - steel-toed and steel-heeled, with a knife hidden along each shin. A sash wrapped around her midriff, sewn with a single coin from each of the towns she had raided that held a cutlass and another dagger, and a tiny spring-loaded crossbow mounted to her forearm. It was meant to be concealed beneath a shirt, but Sinéad wasn't really the concealing sort.
And two copper coins.
She bled.
Her wings were gone, and her back was agony, and she could see nothing through the haze of pain. She could only feel the agony, and the rough hand on her arm. She could hear, though. Oh, she could hear.
"You'll never amount to anything more than a two copper whore, not any more."
A pressure in her palm, two small round objects. "Here. Your first payment. For... services rendered."
And then a kick in her middle, off the edge of somewhere, and the coins biting into her palm as she held them and fell, and fell.
Sinéad picked the coins up. Sometimes she thought they were still warm, but perhaps that was just the fury. She'd had them affixed to pins as soon as she'd could, and their placement may have been what coined the name they all called her now.
The whore of the horizon.
And now it was time for another town to get fucked.
===
And so the ship dropped, hard and fast, pounding down out of the sky into the folds of the unsuspecting manor below. The wall cannons might be firing from the keep, if they had them, but if the ship dropped fast enough it was hard to get a bead on. Maybe they'd have archers at the ready, or maybe the whole place would have been caught with its proverbial pants around its ankles.
It wouldn't be the first time, but then again, first times were overrated.