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Glory to my Proofreader: Solare. For he is one who points out mistakes and acts as my favourite wall to bounce ideas off of.
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John's hands moved lazily across the ivory keys, no longer bound to any particular song. He let his fingers wander wherever instinct carried them, chords and fragments spilling into the air in soft, seamless currents.
Notes rose and fell like the tide, carrying no purpose but the weight of his own wandering thoughts. The world outside that quiet, forgotten hall felt like a dream that had long since passed. There was only him, the piano, and the Goddess lounging beside him.
Marika sat casually atop the piano, one leg crossed elegantly over the other, her golden hair spilling freely down her shoulders. Her gaze wandered the dust-laden rafters above before slowly drifting back to him. The smallest smile tugged at her lips, her eyes bright with the quiet amusement of watching her champion reveal a side of himself no battlefield would ever show.
"Tell me, mine Champion," she asked with lazy curiosity, her voice lilting like a harp's pluck, "is the pianoforte the sole instrument thy fingers have mastered, or doth thou possess skill with others also?"
John chuckled, leaning back slightly as he lifted his hands from the keys with a sigh that felt equal parts sated and nostalgic.
"Well, 'mastered' is a strong word." He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. "After I warmed up to piano, I ended up taking a few music classes in school. Picked up the basics of a few other instruments. Though, if I'm being honest, I was barely better than an amateur at most of them."
His grin crooked awkwardly, his tone shifting into something more wistful. "But guitar? Yeah… I put a lot of time into learning that one." He paused, then let out a laugh that was as self-mocking as it was fond. "Mostly just because I thought it'd help me pick up girls."
Marika very nearly burst into laughter then and there, managing to stifle it into a silvery giggle behind her hand. "That soundeth precisely like thee," she teased. "Pray tell, didst thy shallow stratagems ever bear fruit?"
John's grin sharpened into a cocky smirk as he raised a single finger like a boastful schoolboy about to brag. "Just once. One lucky break. Lost my virginity thanks to it, actually. Can't say I remember what I said to seal the deal, so I guess the guitar carried my ass harder than I deserved."
This time Marika could not contain herself. She laughed outright, doubling slightly forward as she covered her mouth, her divine composure broken by genuine amusement. John only chuckled along with her, leaning into his embarrassment rather than away from it.
When she finally caught her breath, her smile lingered, softer but still gleaming. "What a pity~!" she said with mock lament. "That such an instrument hath ne'er reached mine ears before now. To see thee attempt such… seduction, in real time… methinks 'twould amuse me greatly."
John smirked, flicking his gaze back to the keys before tossing a quip over his shoulder. "Careful with those wishes, Goddess. Give me a guitar and I'll charm my way straight into your bed before you even know it."
That did it. Marika laughed again, louder this time, holding her sides as her body shook with mirth, her golden locks swaying freely around her face.
John, despite himself, felt the heat creep into his cheeks. Watching her, truly watching her laugh, open and unrestrained…
It sent a warmth through his chest he didn't have the tools to put into words.
He shook his head quickly, as if to dislodge the thought, and pressed his fingers back to the keys, letting a new melody anchor him.
Soft, nostalgic notes flowed out, a piece he hadn't touched in years: the piano arrangement of Firelink Shrine's theme from Dark Souls. The tune echoed faintly through the empty theater, melancholy and familiar, a hymn to rest and renewal that felt achingly at home here in this hollow hall.
Marika's laughter quieted slowly, though he could feel in his bones that she had noticed everything he felt in that instant. He kept his eyes on the keys, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing him flustered further.
She leaned closer over the piano, her golden eyes gleaming with impish delight. "I would have much enjoyed watching thee try, truly."
Before John could even form a reply, the old wooden doors at the far end of the theater creaked wide and swung open with a noisy groan. A bald head poked through, followed by a familiar face twisted in mild surprise.
"Oi…" Patches muttered, his squint sharp as he glanced into the room. For just a moment, a look of recognition flickered over his features, his eyes narrowing as though he'd heard a ghost of something long, long forgotten.
John froze, then exhaled loudly in relief. 'Thank fuckin' God. Literally anything else right now…'
Marika turned her gaze on him with that same smug little smirk, the kind a cat wears after cornering its prey. "Thou art aware I can hear thee think, aye?"
'Shaddup!' John shot back inwardly, cheeks still faintly red.
Meanwhile, Patches shook his head with a half-bewildered grunt.
"Knew it… Thought I heard that tune before. Familiar, yeah. Real familiar…" His brow furrowed as if trying to scrape the memory from the back of his mind, but then he simply huffed, dismissing it with a shake of his head.
The bald merchant cupped his hands to his mouth and bellowed into the hallway, "Oi! Found the ugly bugger!"
John blinked, deadpan disbelief hardening into annoyance.
"…The fuck did this shiny-headed prick just call ugly?" He muttered under his breath, glaring daggers at Patches.
But Patches didn't hear, or more likely, didn't care. He waved John forward with that infuriating grin of his. "What the hell are you doin' here anyway? The others've been looking all over for you."
John raised his brows in mild confusion, hands still resting lightly on the piano's keys. "The hell are you on about? I just wandered in here to pass the time. The girls were busy bathing, and I didn't wanna bother them. Who exactly sent you here, and who are these 'others' you're talking about?"
Patches stared at him flatly, his lips curling into that familiar mix of amusement and disdain. "Are you daft? You've been gone for two hours. Those three girls have been turning half the Hold upside down lookin' for you."
John blinked. Once. Twice. Then his shoulders sagged, and a shaky chuckle slipped from his throat. "Two hours…? Hah… guess I didn't even feel it pass." He rubbed the back of his neck, his grin awkward. "Must've gotten a little too into playing again. Been a while since I let myself just… sink into it."
Patches tilted his bald head, one brow cocked high. "Must've been one hell of an experience then. Can't say I took you for a bloody piano man. And didn't you say you don't remember anything anyway? Amnesia, or some such?"
John laughed it off, though there was the faintest trace of nerves in it. He closed the fallboard over the keys with a soft click. "Yeah, well… call it muscle memory. Guess whoever I was before the… incident… must've known how to play. It's calming, at least. Easier than thinking."
Patches hummed, arms folding across his chest. "Hmph. That song though. Funny thing, reminded me of one I heard ages ago. From… somewhere far from here."
That made John's smile widen. Not with mirth, but with sharp suspicion, the kind that curled like smoke around a hidden flame. He stood, walking slowly toward Patches, his boots echoing across the empty theater floor. He moved as though he meant to brush right past him, voice carrying casually over his shoulder.
"Yeah… I remember learning it ages ago myself. At a shrine, actually. Learned it alongside a friend." He let the words drag like a hunter setting bait. "If I recall right… his name was… Solaire."
The air went taut as John stopped dead and turned his head sharply.
Patches had flinched.
For one heartbeat the thief's face froze, eyes wide, caught off-guard in a way John had never seen. Sweat pricked along the side of his scalp, rolling quick and heavy. Slowly, mechanically, Patches turned his eyes to meet John's.
And John was already glaring, his pupils thin slits of gold-blue flame. He let a trickle of fire slip through his teeth with his words, deepening his voice until it rolled like thunder.
"Why'd you flinch, Patches? Did that name sound… familiar to you?"
Patches opened his mouth, but only a choked sound came out first. Then, hastily, he plastered a grin on his face, though it wobbled like paper. "H-heh… You're barking up the wrong tree, friend. Don't know what you're on about."
Unbeknownst to him, golden light shimmered on his other side. Marika manifested, her arms crossed and her gaze sharp, studying every twitch in his face as if dissecting him alive.
"Thy suspicions from days past were no idle fancy, mine Champion…" she whispered with cool certainty, her lips curving faintly. "This constant of ours… is guilty."
Patches gave another weak laugh, shaking his head quickly as if denial could erase his slip. "Aha… Look, I've no idea what you're talkin' about. You're hearing ghosts in your own head."
Then, without warning, he stiffened like a puppet on cut strings. "Anyway, the others are waiting for you in the dining hall."
His words were too quick, too rehearsed. But before John could press further, the bald merchant spun on his heel and practically bolted, his boots clapping frantically against the stone floor as he sprinted down the corridor.
John leaned back slightly, one hand finding his hip as he watched the man's retreat. A self-satisfied yet suspicious smirk spread across his face. 'I know what you're hiding, baldie… I just can't prove it…'
Beside him, Marika floated lazily on her cloud of grace, that same knowing smirk mirrored on her lips.
"He knoweth, dost he not?" she murmured, mostly to hear the answer she already believed.
John's smirk widened, his eyes flashing a mix of amusement and excitement. "Yeah. I had my doubts, but now I've confirmed it. There's only one reason he flinched when I mentioned Solaire, not to mention how weird he acted a few days back when I mentioned Siegmeyer. Patches remembers his previous lives. From the other worlds."
His tone carried equal parts triumph and fascination.
Marika's gaze sharpened. "Intriguing. If this thief carrieth memories across worlds, then he is a tether between realities. A walking archive. Imagine what may be unearthed from his mind, if he could be… persuaded."
John chuckled, amused despite the gravity of it. "Honestly? I just think it's funny. But hell… if Patches is here with his memories, then who knows what else might've crossed over. Other people, other… things. Kinda exciting, ain't it?"
Marika's smirk faded into something more contemplative. "Exciting… aye. But perilous also. If one such as he may traverse lives unbound, then what other fragments of foreign realms have drifted into mine? What truths, what threats… what powers?"
John only shrugged, hands slipping into his pockets, his grin cocky as ever. "Guess we'll just have to find out. And hey… if I ever get the chance, I'll pick that bastard's brain myself. Bet there's plenty rattling around in there that even you'd wanna know."
Marika's golden eyes narrowed, though her smile returned, thin and sharp as a knife. "Ever the curious fool, mine Champion."
Marika tilted her head, her golden eyes narrowing with that predatory curiosity of hers. "Would there not be more to know from thee, specifically? Wert thou not the one to 'play' through all the worlds our constant hailed from?"
John chuckled awkwardly, rubbing at the back of his neck as he turned to glance at her. "Well, I mean, yeah, I did… but…"
She stared at him for a long, heavy moment, and then sighed with that tired sort of disappointment only she could muster. "Thou knowest not of them in any true depth, dost thou?"
John gave a helpless shrug, the grin on his face apologetic. "I know the broad strokes, and there's some lore I dug deep into 'cause it caught my interest. But beyond that? Nah. Patches probably knows more than me. At least the fine details."
Her lips pressed thin as she exhaled sharply. "Prithee… thy bone-headedness is enough to sour ambrosia."
John laughed at her sharp jab, brushing it off as he began to stride out of the auditorium, boots ringing against the stone floor.
Behind him, Marika's voice followed like a silken thread. "Then tell me, Champion. Doth this confirm our earlier suspicions?"
He turned an eye toward her, one brow raised. "Hm? What earlier suspicions?"
She flicked a lock of radiant hair back over her shoulder, her tone deliberate. "Commander O'Neil's warning. He spake of Siegmeyer, yet claimed no memory of him amongst his comrades. Would not that mystery, along with the constant's queer reaction to the name, hint that Patches is perchance Siegmeyer in disguise?"
John froze for a beat, then chuckled as realization clicked. He nodded, the grin returning to his face. "Yeah… I suspected as much the moment O'Neil confessed. Wouldn't even be the first time either. Patches once nicked an Onion Knight's armor before, a guy named Siegward. Hopefully this time he didn't get it by stabbing someone in the back."
Marika hummed low at that, one finger curling under her chin. "And wilt thou act upon this? For if thou art correct, our constant hath been scheming for thy death ere now."
John barked out a laugh and shook his head. "Nah. Don't mind it. I know all his tricks by heart. Sure, he'll shove me into a deathtrap now and then, or scam me out of treasure, but it's all mostly harmless. And I always get to beat his ass for it later, so it evens out."
Marika gave him a deadpan stare, her lips thinning again. "Thou keepest an awfully strange taste in friends."
He smirked right back at her. "And you've got an awfully weird taste in champions."
"…Humph. Touché."
The pair made their way into the dining hall at last. The scent of roasting meat and fresh bread rolled through the air. John spotted Millicent, Melina, and Irina seated at a long oak table. Roderika sat beside them, nervously fidgeting with her hands while listening to Sorcerer Rogier's musings.
Corhyn was across from them, already halfway through a prayer over his food. And there sat Patches, his usual grin plastered on, laughing and chatting, though the faint tightness in his shoulders betrayed that he had not yet shaken his nerves.
John smirked knowingly, then turned his gaze past them all. The open kitchen at the far end caught his attention. Behind the wide counter, a mountain of a man with one scarred eye barked orders at a line of younger cooks. His sleeveless tunic revealed arms like tree trunks, while his barrel chest and gut stretched against the cloth.
John strode up with his usual confidence, raising a hand in greeting. "Evening, old man."
The head chef turned, his single eye narrowing before widening with a spark of recognition. He slammed his massive palms against the counter, rattling the cutlery. "Well, look who's crawled back! Yer lass passed through here with a few fellow young ladies a bit ago, without ya! Thought I'd never see yer half-grown squirt arse alive again!"
John smirked, leaning an elbow casually on the counter. "What, afraid for my safety, were you?"
The scarred chef, Reinhard, if he remembered correctly, barked out a laugh, the sound like rolling thunder. "Nay, lad. Not for a second! Ye strike me like a bloody cockroach. Too damn hard to kill. Permanently, at least."
The corner of John's lip twitched at the insult. In the back of his mind, Marika's laughter chimed, musical and merciless at his expense. John just sighed, throwing his hands up. "If you say so, old man."
Reinhard slapped the counter once more, still laughing. "Ha! Good lad. Now, what'll it be? Look above, four meals today as usual, each better'n the last."
John tilted his head upward at the hanging chalkboard menu.
Peasant's Stew & Black Bread (200 runes): A thick barley broth with salted pork belly and carrots, served with a heel of black bread and a watered ale. Humble fare, but it keeps a soldier's belly full.
Hunter's Feast (500 runes): Charred venison ribs basted in fire-grease, laid over buttered potatoes and spiced greens. The kind of meal that steadies the hand of a huntsman before the next kill.
Knight's Platter (1,000 runes): Slices of boar steak seared with iron pans, heaped with gravy-soaked bread and a wedge of sharp, cave-aged cheese. A plate fit for steel and sweat.
Lord's Table (2,000 runes): An entire roast pheasant glazed in herbs and salt, with sweet fruits and herbed rice, served with a skin of honeyed wine. A feast fit for a noble's hall.
John smirked, rubbing his chin. "Two of each."
Reinhard blinked at him, his one eye widening slightly. Then, a grin split his face. "A big appetite, eh? That'll be… 7,400 runes total."
John dug into his soul and handed it over without hesitation, shrugging. "Worth it."
Reinhard barked orders to the younger cooks, who scattered like startled chickens. Within minutes, the kitchen came alive with clattering pans and sizzling flames. Soon after, the man returned himself, carrying a massive silver platter laden with steaming dishes, the aromas thick enough to make John's stomach growl. He set it down with a heavy thud.
Then, Reinhard leaned on the counter, his scarred grin widening. "Ye never gave me yer name, lad."
John hefted the platter with both hands, the weight nothing against his immortal strength. He glanced up at the man with a smirk. "Johnathan. But you can call me John."
Reinhard's grin split into a bark of laughter again. "Aye, I'll be waitin' for yer return tomorrow then… Johnny Boy."
John hefted the great silver platter of steaming food with both arms, balancing it with ease as he made his way through the long hall toward the wide table where his companions sat. The chatter of voices rolled around the chamber like smoke, warm and pleasant, until it dimmed when the sight of his ridiculous haul became clear.
Millicent spotted him first. Her eyes widened, and in a heartbeat she scooted sideways on the bench, patting the space beside her with her one hand as though summoning him like a loyal hound. "Here! Sit here, John!"
John chuckled under his breath but obeyed, sliding onto the bench beside her. Irina, seated on his other side, reached out the moment she sensed his presence, her slim hands finding his arm and gently curling around it.
Her grip was not possessive, merely seeking the certainty of his warmth and the grounding reassurance that he was really there.
He let her cling to him without complaint, though he noticed out of the corner of his eye the slight twitch in Melina's brow, the faintest crease of annoyance passing over her otherwise placid face as she settled across from them.
Melina was the first to speak, her voice calm but tinged with impatience. "Where were you?" she asked, golden eyes narrowing faintly.
Before John could answer, Millicent leaned forward, peering at the mountain of dishes piled before him. "Never mind that, why the hell did you bring half the kitchen?!"
John raised a brow, keeping his tone deliberately flat. "I was hungry."
"And?" Millicent pressed, eyes narrowing.
"That's it." He shrugged and began unpacking the dishes onto the table. "I was hungry. End of story."
She groaned, but before she could continue, John sighed and leaned back. "Truth is… I found an old abandoned hall while I was wandering. There was a piano there, so I sat down to play for a while. Guess I got… lost in it. Time slipped past me without my noticing."
The table went quiet at that. Millicent blinked at him. Irina's blindfolded head tilted. Even Melina looked faintly surprised, her lips parting ever so slightly.
"You… play the piano?" Melina asked slowly, as though she were uncertain she had heard him correctly.
John chuckled and scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah. Or, well… I guess I used to. Muscle memory, mostly. I sat down, put my hands on the keys, and it just… came back. Like someone else was guiding my fingers."
Millicent's mouth fell open. "You're telling me you can slay dragons and play instruments?!"
"Don't make it sound so impressive." He laughed, shaking his head and trying to downplay it. "Honestly, I'm trash at it. Barely better than an amateur. But… I dunno, something about it clicked again."
As the others digested this revelation, Rogier, who had been quietly observing the whole time with his usual polite smile, leaned forward slightly. "Forgive me, but… the ladies have been calling you John. Is that what you go by now?"
John glanced at him, then nodded. "Yeah. My full name's Johnathan. But you can call me John." His eyes flicked to the bald man at the end of the table. "Except Patches. He can suck my dick."
Patches, who had been stuffing bread into his mouth, nearly choked from laughing. He leaned forward with a sly grin and sang out mockingly, "Don't be like that, Johnny~!"
John froze, his face deadpan. Slowly, he picked up one of the table knives and pointed it directly at Patches, eyes narrowing dangerously. "Do not call me that."
The bald man only smirked wider, raising his hands in mock surrender.
Before John could drive the point home, Millicent clapped her hand on the table once, eyes sparkling with mischief. "I'm calling you that too!"
"What-? No, don't…" John groaned.
"I like it," Roderika said suddenly, her cheeks pink as she twiddled her fingers together. "It… it suits you."
John slumped back into his seat with a long-suffering sigh. "…Fine. Whatever. Call me what you want."
Millicent beamed in victory. Patches chuckled like a snake. Roderika ducked her head, smiling shyly at her lap. John stabbed a potato with his fork like it was to blame for all of this.
The conversation rolled on as they began to eat. Plates were passed, laughter bubbled up, and for a short while the Roundtable's heavy hall felt alive in a way it rarely did. But inevitably, the talk turned toward their shared lodging.
John leaned on his elbow, chewing thoughtfully. "The clerk charged me two thousand runes last time for just me and Melina. This time, Melina only paid twelve hundred for the four of us. Doesn't that strike anyone else as… suspicious?"
Rogier blinked. "I was only ever charged eight hundred at the most when i first came here, and that was when I shared my lodgings with a few comrades."
Corhyn frowned. "Two hundred for me."
Roderika raised her hand timidly. "Mine was four hundred…"
John slammed his palm on the table with a grin too sharp to be entirely sane. "Knew it. That Odin-wannabe prick is behind this. Gideon pulled some strings to bleed me dry, didn't he?"
Millicent pumped her fist in solidarity. "Let's prank him!"
"Yes," John agreed instantly, eyes gleaming. "Together."
Melina pinched the bridge of her nose, her patience visibly thinning. "Hopeless. Both of you."
Marika, unseen to all but him, lounged above the table with a feline smile, golden laughter threading into his thoughts. "Petty vengeance, mine champion? Delightful."
Around the table, the others reacted in their own ways. Rogier with an amused, resigned smile, Corhyn with a quiet shake of his head, Roderika with wide eyes at the thought of defying the great scholar of the Hold. Patches, naturally, smirked as if he were already considering how to make the prank worse.
The conversation shifted again, circling back to the odd fact that all four of them: John, Melina, Millicent, and Irina, were to share a room for the night.
"Sharing a room, eh?" Patches leaned back with his hands behind his head, grinning like a wolf. "That's awfully cozy. Maybe even… scandalous."
Roderika's face went scarlet. She sputtered, glancing between John and the others, unable to form words.
Melina froze for half a second before scoffing sharply, her cheeks tinged pink. "Do not be absurd. It is practical. Nothing more."
Millicent tilted her head, blinking in confusion. "Why? It's just a room. What's so weird about that?"
Irina, however, turned a shade deeper than Roderika, her hands tightening around John's sleeve as if she were embarrassed by the very thought.
Soon all four of them, Roderika flustered, Melina indignant, Millicent innocently amused, and Irina bashfully shrinking into herself, crowded around John, voices overlapping in a chaotic chorus of embarrassment, denial, and teasing.
John raised his hands in surrender, trying to calm them down. "Whoa, whoa! Easy! It's just a room. Nothing's happening, alright? Everyone relax!"
Across the table, Rogier, Patches, and Corhyn sat in deadpan silence, watching the chaos unfold.
Patches let out a grunt, half annoyed, half impressed. "No way this freak's got them all wrapped around his finger like that…"
Rogier sighed heavily while swirling his glass of wine, resting his chin on his palm. "I feel like a man dying of thirst watching another man drown…"
Corhyn shook his head disapprovingly. "Envy is unbecoming of you both. The teachings of Queen Marika remind us to be grateful for the blessings of others. Joy, love, even favor… they are not ours to covet."
Patches snorted, turning to stare at the pious man's blindfold. "Easy for you to say, priest."
The table erupted again with laughter, bickering, and embarrassed protests. John only sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose as Marika's golden laughter rang in his skull, warm and merciless.
…
After dinner, the laughter and teasing slowly wound down, and the group retired to the room Melina had secured.
They began to settle in, shedding cloaks, boots, and any remaining armor. Millicent flopped onto one of the beds with a satisfied groan, stretching her one arm above her head. Melina busied herself by straightening the room with quiet efficiency. Irina lingered by the door, her hands fidgeting together, her blindfolded face tilted down.
Her voice was small, fragile. "I… I don't want to sleep alone. Not tonight. After everything that happened, I… I'm scared."
Silence settled for a beat. Melina paused mid-motion, her gaze softening, while Millicent sat up, lips pursed in thought. John leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and let out a quiet breath through his nose.
"Alright," he said gently, pushing off the wall. "If it helps you feel safe, you can sleep in my bed. No problem."
Irina's lips parted, her cheeks coloring faintly, relief written in every line of her posture. But before she could say more, Melina's voice cut sharply across the room.
"Absolutely not." She straightened, her arms folding across her chest. "You cannot expect me to allow that. If she is to sleep beside you, then I will as well. Someone has to make sure… nothing untoward happens."
John blinked at her, caught between exasperation and amusement. "Seriously?"
"Yes," Melina replied, her tone brooking no argument. Her flush betrayed her, but her stance was iron.
Millicent grinned from her perch on the other bed. "Well, if you two are doing that, then I'm not about to be left out!" Without hesitation, she bounded over and launched herself onto the bed with a laugh. "We'll all just sleep together!"
John stood there for a long moment, staring at the three women now crowding his bed with varying shades of blush and determination. Finally, he dragged a hand down his face and let out a resigned chuckle. "...I've got no say in this, do I?"
"Nope!" Millicent chirped.
"Apparently not…" Melina muttered, settling primly on the edge of the mattress.
Irina's quiet, grateful smile made the choice for him.
With some effort, they pushed the two beds together to make one large, uneven pile of mattresses and blankets. When at last they settled down, it turned into a tangle of limbs and warmth.
Irina clung to John's arm timidly, her face buried against his shoulder. Millicent sprawled across his chest like a cat, snickering softly before drifting off. Melina lay stiffly on his other side at first, but eventually her breathing evened and she shifted closer, her forehead brushing his arm.
John stared up at the ceiling with a helpless smile tugging at his lips. It was cramped, suffocatingly warm, and more than a little ridiculous, but he was not mad at it. Not in the slightest.
Marika's voice rippled through his mind, amused and smug. "Three maidens to thyself, mine champion? Truly thou art greedy."
John snorted inwardly, closing his eyes. 'Greedy? Maybe. Lucky? Definitely.'
Her laughter lingered as his thoughts slipped into the haze of sleep, the warmth of the cuddle-pile dragging him gently into dreamland.
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Author's Note:
One small step for Melina, one giant leap for Gooner Kind!
Anyways, stones.
…
Next Chapter Title: Desecration's Stench.
…
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