Solrathicharnon-Saurivthurgix knew very little other than hate and rage as he soared from the Dragon’s Forge. The rage did not cool in the slightest as he left the Western Wilderlands and began flying over the pony lands that lay between the Wilderlands and the Skyshaper Peaks. He very badly wanted to indulge in his hate and his rage as he soared over the pony lands, land in a pony village and burn and slay every single mortal there, but the eldest dragon was no slave to his emotions.
And besides, he had to figure out what was going on with the Darkness that now inhabited him.
He cleared the pony lands easily enough, and settled down after a day of hard flying within the first secluded valley that he could find. He heard nothing but the wind flowing through the leaves of trees, and the hurried, furtive movements of animals trying to either quickly run away or hide from the dragon that had landed in their home. He didn’t taste any sapient being in the wind, nor smell the scent of sedentary habitation – pony, griffin, dragon, or otherwise.
He was alone – so it was finally safe for him to double over in pain, three legs on the ground and the claws of the fourth scratching at his chest. He had thought that he had managed to expel most of the black bile from him, but he could taste himself vomiting forth more, mixed with the fires that he exhaled. Evidently it had built up within him again over the past few hours.
Solrathicharnon could see the bile – it was magic, dark magic. It washed over the mountain valley and corrupted everything it touched, twisted it, drained the life and the magic from it – killed it, eventually, and caused its rapid decay to everything except for him. The next round of expulsion brought forth less bile, and the one after that even less, until he had managed to vomit forth all of it – or almost all. No more would come from him…but now that he knew what to look for within himself, what to try and feel within him, he could sense it:
The Rainbow of Darkness. The bag that it had been contained it had been a potent artifact, but it had not been the Darkness itself – and it had been burned up and destroyed by the fires that burned within the eldest dragon, it seemed. Bereft of its physical vessel, the Darkness had found a new one immediately: Solrathicharnon himself. Just as the Elements of Harmony had come to reside within six ponies, so too was the Darkness now within him.
That complicated things…at least as far as his plans with Corona were concerned, in any event. Corona was insane and greedy and wrathful, but she would not abide Solrathicharnon’s presence – nor his continued existence – if he revealed the Darkness within him. But he still needed her. He would never get close to his goal within Canterlot unless he could use her to masquerade his true intentions. He would never have his revenge on Luna.
Solrathicharnon focused his magical senses. He couldn’t sense the Darkness on him, at least. Exhaling fire, he ‘saw’ that it wasn’t laced with the dark, magical bile at the moment, either. But the Darkness built up within him over time; he could feel it doing so even now. He would linger in this valley several days, determining how fast it mounted, experimenting with his control over it and if he could keep it suppressed, or if he’d have to periodically expel it from his body. The Darkness was powerful…but if it would move him closer to his goal, his desire to bring down all Luna had built over the past thousand years – all she had struggled for since killing most of his brothers, his father, and blinding him – then Solrathicharnon would learn to master it, would learn how to be more powerful.
No cost was too high to pay, as long as he got his revenge.
---
The whelp had been here for many sleeps. This was a hoard like no other. Once she had seen the hoard of an old, old, one, a pile that she would have had to stand atop of herself five times to be as big as, and that would take her many-many steps to walk around. She had taken a meal from the hoard when the old, old, one hadn’t noticed, but then he had noticed and hit her hard enough to make a crack inside of her that had hurt for many, many sleeps afterwards.
This hoard, though, hidden beneath the pool of lava in the Forge, at the bottom-bottom of the black tower, was bigger. Many many many times bigger. And the old, old, old, old dragon who owned it was bigger too, of course. But he did not hurt her when she stole a meal. She had tried to be unseen, but she had been seen, but the old, old, old, old dragon hadn’t hurt her or made her crack.
He was in his hoard now, putting it in piles. In one pile were gems, and they were all tasty, and the whelp took and ate from that and was mostly unseen. The next pile was made up of small pieces of gold that were mostly round and sometimes had small pictures on them. The next-next pile was made of other things. The old, old, old, old dragon was right now holding something made of gold and red soft things, nice to sit on for the whelp but too small for the old, old, old, old dragon.
The whelp didn’t know why the old, old, old, old dragon treated the gold and red thing more carefully than the small round gold things or the gems. She didn’t know a lot about him.
“Why?” she finally asked. The other dragon looked at her, and the whelp gasped and dashed away and hid in the gem pile in fear at the eyes of such a big and old dragon looking at her. But the old, old, old, old dragon didn’t do anything other than look, and after a few breaths the whelp poked her head from the gem pile, staring.
The old, old, old, old dragon looked at the whelp. “Why what?”
“Why…” the whelp paused, fingers opening and closing as she searched the words she had stolen and made her own. There were so few. “Why you…not hurt me? Why you not…” she snapped her jaws shut a few times. “Crack?”
The old, old, old, old dragon seemed to know her thoughts, though. “Why would I?”
The whelp blinked, not knowing. She looked down to the gems she was in, lifted one. “I take,” she said, then shoved it into her mouth, chewing and swallowing. Her heart beat faster and faster as she stole from the old, old, old old dragon with him looking, but he did nothing, even as she swallowed. “I take. You not hurt. Why?”
The other dragon let out a long breath, though it had no fire. “Why would I?” he asked again.
“Because I take!”
“Take,” the other dragon said, waving a claw at the whelp and going back to making piles.
The whelp stared. She looked down at the gems, and stuffed one in her mouth, eating. Then another. Then another, and more, and more, and more…she ate until full, until she felt she might crack herself. She was too young to grow from taking yet, and it did not take long until she had eaten all she could. She fell onto her back once full, staring at nothing.
Then she noticed the old, old, old, old dragon staring at her. She yelped and tried to struggle away and hide, but she was too full. She did not know how that could be, but it was. It hurt to move, especially inside of her. She flopped onto her stomach and panted.
The old, old, old, old dragon moved to come around and look her in the eye. She stared in fear. “No hurt!” she called out desperately, even as she tried to dig into the gems, to bury herself.
But the other dragon did not hurt her. “No hurt,” he said, then looked down, searching for words himself. “You take…too much. You hurt you. Take…less.”
The whelp blinked at the old, old, old, old dragon’s words. They were new to her. Her claws opened and closed again, as though she could grab his words. “Less?” she asked, not knowing.
The old, old, old, old dragon grunted. “Less,” he repeated. He grabbed a nearby pile of small round gold pieces – of course, he was so big that everything was small to him – and showed it to her, then poured out some of it and showed her the smaller pile. “Less.”
The whelp blinked, wrapping her mind around the idea easily enough. “Less,” she said. “Why?”
“You hurt you.”
The whelp thought. She was too full. It hurt to move. She could eat all the gems she wanted…but she should take less. Then she would not hurt as much. But…she wouldn’t be full…
---
The dragon whelp that had once been Claxokarthelornarux had unfocused eyes, and was thinking very hard about what Sjachthurkearverthichaoposs had said – or tried to say, anyway, in the stunted Draconic language that the whelp had only a basic grasp of. Her contemplation wasn’t made any easier by simply not knowing how to articulate what she wanted to say or think about. The intent was there, but the nuance…
Well. Nevermind that, for now. The black dragon returned to sorting his great hoard, trying to decide what to do with it. A large part of his instincts – five hundred years of his life – didn’t want to abandon a single piece, not the barest sliver of gold. Gold was useful beyond simply being treasure to hoard, after all…
To, what, buy goods at a market? That would go over well…a rumbling chuckle escaped the black dragon at the thought. No, he would probably simply dig a hole in the floor until he reached magma, and let the molten rock consume the gold. The gemstones, too, were largely useless. His old lair on the Cavallian-Zaldian border sat over a natural pocket that he wouldn’t be able to eat through in ten lifetimes of gluttony. That still left the other treasures, though. Priceless and ancient artifacts. Most of them nonmagical, of course – save for the throne and a few other trinkets – but the sheer history in them meant that he didn’t want to let any of them go. Plus a large number of them came from Cavallia and Zaldia; returning them would be a good way to get on the good side of both nations and secure his lair anew. The issue would be transporting it…he scratched at his head, trying to remember how he had even gotten all this here in the first place…didn’t he have a magical artifact or something? Where had he put it…
There was movement from the entrance to his lair; Sjachthurkearverthichaoposs spared a glance and saw a much-smaller-than-him green-and-purple dragon: Hesjingrasvim. The smaller dragon hadn’t tried to hide his approach and was keeping his head and neck close to the floor, though he couldn’t keep his eyes from wandering greedily across the treasure. His eyes widened somewhat when he spotted the whelp that had been Claxokarthelornarux sitting on a pile of gemstones, still trying to figure out the concept of ‘too much.’
“The ponies and Spike have been returned to Pferdreich?” Sjachthurkearverthichaoposs asked, still in Draconic. With Spike no longer here, there was no need to use the language of pones, or any other lesser mortals, save if the dragon needed to in order to communicate a concept.
Hesjingrasvim was broken from his staring at the whelp, and directed his eyes forward – not meeting Sjachthurkearverthichaoposs’ own, of course. “Yes,” he answered, glancing up at Sjachthurkearverthichaoposs, then back down very quickly. He shifted a little. “I, uh…was promised…”
Sjachthurkearverthichaoposs grunted, the sound sending Hesjingrasvim scurrying backwards a few feet. After a moment, however, he sighed as he reached through the treasures he had and came upon something that didn’t matter much to him, a very large golden frame inlaid with gemstones. There was, however, no painting set within the frame. Sjachthurkearverthichaoposs wondered idly what had happened to the painting as he tossed the frame at Hesjingrasvim, who caught it in his mouth before bringing it down to his hands, clutching it tightly. “Take,” the black dragon said.
Hesjingrasvim certainly looked like he intended to as he ran his claws along the golden frame and over the gemstones. His eyes once again wandered across the vast treasure hoard of Sjachthurkearverthichaoposs. “The Overlord…paid me well,” he said, using the Naqahn word for ‘paid’ since Draconic lacked the term. He tapped at his heart-scale, no doubt considering the treasure he had hidden beneath it. “It is easier…safer…than stealing from other dragons, or the lesser mortals. Or the ocean serpents.”
Sjachthurkearverthichaoposs’ tail flicked a little behind him, knocking into the pile of coins he had organized. “It is,” he allowed. What was Hesjingrasvim driving at?
Hesjingrasvim considered again. “I want more,” he said, then scuttled back quickly, pressing his head right to the floor. “Not to steal from your hoard! I would…do more things for you. And you would pay me?”
The black dragon’s eyes widened in surprise at the request. It was one thing to suborn oneself to a stronger dragon: that was simply common sense to his kin. But Hesjingrasvim was suggesting an exchange – tasks for treasure. Interaction beyond combat and theft. Interactions that required a degree of trust – that required going against centuries of bred-in instinct to fear his greaters and subordination of one’s lessers…yes, Hesjingrasvim was still utterly focused on increasing the size of his own hoard, his own personal power, but he was looking for a way to do it that didn’t involve crushing others beneath his claws…looking for a fair exchange.
Perhaps Spike had started to get through to the dragons of the Forge after all? Not all of them…probably not even most of them. And only a little bit – Hesjingrasvim had been perfectly content to stand by and watch as Claxokarthelornarux had tried to kill the then-Overlord.
But…perhaps it was a start. “I will allow this,” he said, leaning down towards the smaller dragon as a plan formed in his mind. “But…the other dragons of the Forge would be jealous. Jealous of your hoard. They would attack you.”
Hesjingrasvim considered that. He was of about average size and strength for a dragon of his age, and not blessed with inherent might and power the way Sjachthurkearverthichaoposs was. The black dragon had feared precious few dragons these past few centuries, but Hesjingrasvim still had to ponder his personal safety with everything he did. “So they would,” he confirmed.
“But,” Sjachthurkearverthichaoposs continued. “I am leaving the Forge, returning to my old lair. I shall take my hoard with me. You could follow me. No doubt I will have many tasks for you once there – and many rewards.”
Hesjingrasvim considered that carefully. “My own hoard…” he said. Based on his choice of a Naqahn word and his greatest treasure being a giant pearl, Sjachthurkearverthichaoposs guessed that his own lair must have been on the coast somewhere near the camel lands.
“I would fly to the mountains in the east,” Sjachthurkearverthichaoposs said. “There are many caverns there, unclaimed by any dragons for fear of the attention of alicorns. But we shall not draw their attention.”
Hesjingrasvim considered for only a moment more. “I shall return to my lair and retrieve my hoard,” he said. “Then I will follow you, Sjachthurkearverthichaoposs-Vutha.” The black dragon nodded once, and Hesjingrasvim was off. No doubt he probably thought that he was pulling some kind of great scam on Sjachthurkearverthichaoposs. Just as Sjachthurkearverthichaoposs had once thought that he only had to wait out twenty years under the yoke of Princess Cadenza, and then he could return to his normal life?
Perhaps. Perhaps the great changes needed to save an entire species weren’t accomplished in one fell swoop. Perhaps they were achieved not by some great and powerful dragon becoming Overlord – but rather, by three dragons simply leaving the Forge and trying something new, somewhere far away?
Or more than three. Hesjingrasvim hadn’t been the only dragon that Spike had paid for services rendered. Were there, perhaps, others?
Maybe. Sjachthurkearverthichaoposs considered his hoard, the sheer wealth that it represented – the gemstones and the gold as well as the treasure. There was a lot of wealth there…a lot of payment for dragons who desired it…
Sjachthurkearverthichaoposs returned one more to his hoard, digging through it again as he tried to find the artifact that had allowed him to store his treasures to make carrying them across the continent actually possible, even as he tried to remember all the dragons in the Forge whom Spike had paid, who had gotten the barest taste of a different way – and who might find that they actually liked it. Whatever nebulous plans were forming in Sjachthurkearverthichaoposs’ mind would probably take centuries to reach fruition, or longer. Long enough that he wouldn’t see them. But perhaps he could make decent start, and – he glanced at the whelp who had once been Claxokarthelornarux, who held a gemstone in her claws but wasn’t eating it, instead just considering it – and maybe, eventually, it would save his people.
There was only one way to find out.
---
The grand army that had formed along the borders of the Western Wilderlands had faced several very nervous hours when the dragons had begun to approach them from all sides. Fortunately, Raindrops, Cheerilee, and Spike had been at the forefront of the wyrm flight and had been set down exactly where the former two had been picked up in the first place. They had been able to relay the message that the remaining dragons were simply going home, that the crisis was over, that there was no longer a Dragon Overlord and, as a result, there would be no terrifying war of lesser mortals against dragons.
The Pferdreichers, and others, had spent a few minutes breathing collective sighs of relief at that. Then it suddenly seemed to occur to them that less than a day previously they had sent Cheerilee and Raindrops into the Dragon’s Forge, and now the Great Draconic Threat had passed.
Thus it was that, several hours later, the two ponies and one dragon whelp found themselves back in Pferdchenwortspiel, carried through its main street atop a grand carriage and amidst a military parade of incredible size. Ticker-tapes rained down all around them and there was thunderous applause, and many very important ponies came up to them to say…something to them. Raindrops, Cheerilee, and Spike weren’t sure what, because none of the ponies seemed to remember that none of them could speak Pferdreicher.
Still, that hadn’t stopped the Pferdreicher’s good moods or desire for celebration and music and just basically anything to take the edge off of what had been a terrifying past few days. A few Pferdreichers who could speak Equestrian had let the three of them know that similar celebrations were happening in most of the lands that bordered the Western Wilderlands, and even some of the nations further inland. Ponies as a race didn’t need much of an excuse to throw a party, and the normally less excitable griffins, hippogriffs, cervids, and camels seemed to have adopted basically the same attitude for the moment.
Medals galore were slung around their necks – even Spike’s, as Raindrops and Cheerilee made sure to get the point across that he had been involved in stopping the crisis – and calls of prost followed them wherever they went. Somepony who’s cutie mark suggested a talent had haberdashery had even supplied Raindrops with a new Trab hat, which had then turned into an entire traditional Pferdreicher ensemble for the two mares, Cheerilee in a dirndl while Raindrops sported the lederhosen that went along with her hat.
In the end, though, the two ponies and one dragon whelp had made their desire to go back to their hotel and get some much-needed rest clear in spite of the language barrier. Somepony had at some point upgraded their rooms to the royal suite, which worked out just fine as it had an additional bed for Spike to sleep in.
Neither pony was particularly surprised when they heard a knock on the door just as they were getting ready to turn in – and nor were they surprised when, on opening the door, a certain alicorn was standing outside of it. “Dame Raindrops, Dame Cheerilee,” Princess Luna said, bowing her head in greeting. She smiled at them. “I’m sorry to keep you from your sleep…”
Raindrops had answered the door, and shook her head. “No, it’s fine,” she said. She was lying – mostly, anyway, since regardless of one’s personal state, one did not turn away the Princess after she turned up on your front door.
Cheerilee waved the Princess off as Raindrops closed the door. “It’s not that late,” she said, “and it’s not like we haven’t had long days or nights before, Princess.”
Luna nodded to the two ponies. “My visit will not be a long one in any event,” she told them as the three made their way over to the room’s living area, which featured a massive, lit fireplace and several couches broad and comfortable enough to double as beds if one felt the need. “I have had a long couple of days myself, organizing Equestria’s mobilization and coordinating with Equestira’s neighbors and exarchies. I only just arrived in Pferdreich – I flew here to help with the defenses personally, only to learn that those defenses were unnecessary.” She shook her head. “Not since the Stairs Coup have so many nations come together against a singular threat.”
“Wasn’t Equestria the singular threat for that one?” Cheerilee asked with a smile.
Luna grimaced in embarrassment, particularly since Pferdreich – at the time a fully independent nation – had been one of the targets of the military and political mishap from three centuries previous. “Technically. Perhaps I will finally be allowed to forget about that incident after today. Regardless I am glad that, as with that incident, all that was wasted was simply money and time, rather than lives.” She once again inclined her head to the two ponies. “I understand that I have you two to thank for that. As I was in Pferdreich anyway, I felt the need to thank you now, rather than waiting for your return to Equestria.”
The two ponies bowed their own heads, accepting the thanks, though after a moment Raindrops stepped forward. “It wasn’t just us, though,” she said. “We had help – a big black dragon, named, uh…” she paused, then looked to Cheerilee for help.
The earth pony teacher only shrugged. “I can’t say his name,” she said, then looked to Princess Luna. “Remember any dragons that lived in Cavallia for awhile?”
“Sjachthurkearverthichaoposs,” Luna supplied, though she said it slowly and glanced to the side, obviously trying to get the pronunciation right. “I know of him, through Princess Cadance. The Cavallians remember him as Alanero – Blackwing. I never met him personally, however.”
Raindrops liked the Cavallian name and its translation much better than the Draconic one, on the grounds that she could actually say it. “Yeah. Well, he helped, and…so did another dragon. Spike. He was the one who had been made Over – ”
“Hey,” a voice called, as Spike emerged from the room where he would be sleeping, rubbing one eye out of tiredness and looking towards the three equines. “What’s all the noiaaaaaahhh!” Princess Luna turned to face Spike even as the baby dragon stumbled backwards and away from her, pointing one finger at her. “Gyaaah! What’s she doing here?!”
The alicorn of the night looked to the two ponies, though both had quickly galloped over to Spike. “Spike!” Cheerilee exclaimed, helping him stand back up but also making sure to stand behind him, so he couldn’t run away. “Princess Luna isn’t going to hurt you!”
“Yeah she is!” Spike exclaimed, backing away, which lead to him pressing up against Cheerilee like his back was to a wall. “She’s Corona’s sister! The other crazy alicorn!”
“Spike,” Raindrops tried, “where did you hear that from? Corona? You can’t believe anything she might have said about – ”
“Not her!” Spike interrupted, though he paused a moment, his fear seeming to dissipate. “Well, okay, yeah, Corona said a lot about Luna but I figured that most of it was just her ranting.” He glanced back to Luna, and his fear returned full-force. “But she’s the crazy alicorn who manipulates everypony from the shadows for her own amusement! And she’ll want to put me in a zoo!”
“A…zoo?” The three equines echoed. The former accusation was something that Cheerilee and Raindrops had heard leveled against Luna before; the latter, however, was a bit out of left field.
“That’s what Equestrians do with animals they don’t know about, right?” Spike demanded. “I mean…okay, a zoo’s better than where I was…but I don’t want to be in a zoo!” He pointed at Luna again. “A…and…and…”
Luna held up a hoof. Spike flinched at the gesture, though Luna didn’t make any others as she spoke. “I’m not going to put you in a zoo, Spike. You have my word.”
Spike didn’t seem convinced in the slightest. “Wh…what do you want?” he demanded.
“Well,” Luna said, looking to Raindrops and Cheerilee, “these two were just telling me that you played a role in preventing a dragon attack on Cissanthema. So, I wish to thank you.” She bowed, much deeper than she had for Cheerilee or Raindrops, in order to set Spike at ease. “Your actions saved countless lives, Overlord Spike.”
Spike blinked a few times, clearly still not trusting the alicorn. “Uh,” he said. “Th…thanks? B…but I’m not Overlord anymore.”
Luna stood back up, a small smile on her face. “In Equestria and her exarchies, a retired noble retains his or her titles and stiles even after retirement, though the power passes to his or her successor. As I understand it, dragons don’t have any formal rules for a retired Overlord, so I thought we might as well use equine ones.”
The dragon whelp stopped pressing up against Cheerilee so hard, clearly disarmed by Luna’s actions. “B…but I don’t want to be Overlord. Not even a retired Overlord!”
“I have to reward you somehow,” Luna noted, tapping a hoof to her chin, before her smile widened. “Perhaps something more material. You don’t strike me as being a very avaricious dragon, Spike – ”
“Ava-what now?”
“Greedy. Even still, as a growing young dragon, I’m certain you would appreciate something like…” She closed her eyes, horn glowing as a bubble appeared in front of her. A moment later, sitting on the ground was a three-foot tall cake, covered in frosting in various shades of purple – and studded throughout with green gemstones. Luna’s eyes opened after a moment, and she looked to Spike. “A congratulatory emerald cake, perhaps?”
Spike’s eyes grew wide at the sight of the cake that was taller than him. “Whoa…” he said, breaking away from Cheerilee and moving forward to the cake a little, though he stopped himself after a moment and looked at Luna again. “N…no way. Nuh-uh. This is a trick.”
Luna shook her head. “It is not,” she said, and looked at Spike directly, though she didn’t let the smile leave her face. “I do have questions for you, Spike, about my sister, about where she is and what she is doing, at least when last you saw her. And we will have to sort out what will happen with you – find you a home.” She looked a moment between Spike and Cheerilee, how he had backed away from Luna again to be closer to her. Raindrops noticed it, too, and also noticed that Cheerilee didn’t as she was too concerned with making sure Spike was okay. But then, she was a teacher – that her focus was on the child in the room was to be expected.
“Your circumstances are quite unique and will take some time to sort through,” Luna continued, “but I would not dream of undertaking any course that did not have your approval.” She turned around, heading for the hotel room’s door, which opened at a brush from her telekinesis. “All of that, and the full story of what happened to you three, can wait for tomorrow. Until then, I shall take my leave, Goodnight, Dames Raindrops and Cheerilee. Goodnight, Spike.”
The two ponies watched her go, then looked back to the dragon whelp. “Spike,” Cheerilee said, “Luna isn’t a bad pony. Trust us, we’ve met her personally…” she leaned back, thinking. “Six times? Seven? Something like that. The point is, I promise, she doesn’t want to hurt you.”
Spike was rubbing his clawed hands together in nervousness, then eyed the cake that the Princess had left behind. “I…” he said, “I…don’t know if I can just trust her like that.” He looked at Cheerilee, then Raindrops. “But…well, I guess I can trust you guys.” He thought a moment more, then let out a long sigh, sitting down and not even going near the cake. “I just…I don’t know what I want.”
“You’ll figure things out,” Cheerilee said. She eyed the cake herself, then looked to Raindrops. “Do you think you could put that in the ice box? If it fits, anyway. I think that Spike needs to turn in right now.”
Raindrops waved a hoof, nodding as she approached the cake, which thankfully Luna had seen fit to put on a silver tray, making carrying it easier. She’d probably have to slice it in half to fit it into the room’s ice box, but it was doable. “Sure,” she said, heading over to the hotel’s kitchenette, watching out of the corner of her eye as Cheerilee escorted Spike into his room in order to help him get into his bed, which hadn’t been designed with two-foot-tall dragons in mind.
Raindrops doubted that Cheerilee would want to take Spike in on any permanent basis…but Spike had a rather long train of trust issues right now, and maybe having a chance to be around now-familiar faces would help him overcome them. She’d broach the subject with Cheerilee tomorrow – though, she also had to remember to bring up the Rainbow of Darkness and Solrath’s swallowing of it with Princess Luna.
“One problem at a time,” Raindrops decided, as she eyed the emerald cake, and the icebox, which as it turned out was only about a foot deep – and only maybe big enough for the cake even if it was cut into three sections. “How the hay am I gonna do this…?”