[Mature] I Disagree

[Meraki]

The Mad Queen
28th Hour, 8 Vortas 2719

Meraki, you’re not… you’re perfect. I love… I love you. I love you.

Meraki stood about ten paces away from the entrance of the Mad Queen. He’d been standing there for nearly an hour. He’d smoked three cigarettes. He’d paced non-stop in a small circle for about ten minutes of that hour. He averted his gaze from the patrons going in, and avoided the workers wandering around the pirate-ridden docks, smiling their smiles and trying to entice him. The young tsat smoothed out the velvet on his borrowed pants and fixed the temporarily borrowed sweater. He didn’t have his vest with him, nor his knuckledusters, nor much of anything except some tallies in his pocket and a red-painted cardboard box in his hand.

He muttered to himself, more than a few times, and then he walked a little farther away. Hyper aware of his surroundings, though with a blurry gaze, he glanced about and then he popped open the little tincture he’d grabbed from an apothecary. The liquid cocaine hit him fast, and it hit him hard; within minutes, he finally got himself to walk forward and past the gangplank onto the Mad Queen. Meraki waved away a rather handsy harlot as she tried to grab onto his arm. Another ran a hand over his leg, as if they aimed to rile him. The young man shook his head and quickened his pace to get past a group of boisterous sailors. He could do this. He could do it. It’d be fine. Everything would be fine. He wouldn’t fuck this up.

Following the flow of patrons, as the place was far more crowded than he would have guessed, he traveled downstairs into the permanently anchored ship. Sweet incense wafted around him, joined with the pleasant scents of a good time. Piano music, accompanied with other instruments, harmonized well with the laughter of merriment and otherwise. It almost drowned out the moans and grunts… almost. Meraki held tighter to the tiny box, and he tried to avoid eye contact with anyone. Especially with the half-naked men and women that draped themselves seemingly on every railing and corner.

Nope, he did not like it here. Not even a little bit. So, he insisted to himself while he left the last step and started through the den of flesh. The clink of bottles and glasses, if it weren’t for all the noises beyond the booths, he would have thought it to just be a rambunctious tavern… but there were the noises. Even in his artificially boosted courage, he couldn’t help but think of Lars while he heard those noises, and he felt rage roil just under the surface. His freckled Anaxi skin burned as red as the décor around the place.

I would kill for you, die for you, but so, too, do I live for you.

I love you.

Two hours, that was how long Meraki spent in Lars’ apartment after he’d left his upstairs abode. He washed in the bathtub, cleaned his hair, cleaned the blood from his skin, picked under his nails, and scraped at his teeth with powder. Clean, clean, clean as he could get himself. He’d found some suitable clothes in his lover’s wardrobe, velvet trousers, a baggy sweater, and the burgundy shirt that he thought looked far better on Lars, but he wore anyway.

The shirt reminded him of the passive’s scent, and he liked to breathe in the aroma at the sleeves. It both energized and soothed him, somehow, in an odd but welcomed juxtaposition. He had removed the bandages from his hands and put a pair of knit gloves on instead to hide the bruises and cuts. He’d scrubbed his boots clean. He had thought to borrow Lars’ coat… but that wouldn’t work, because he knew where it came from. Wearing the pilfered jacket off a murdered client probably wasn’t the best first impression. So, he’d pulled on a rather large sweater over the burgundy shirt instead.

Meraki immediately overheated once inside though. It was kept far warmer inside the Mad Queen than on the outside. He pulled at the collar of the sweater. A light sweat beaded on his freshly scrubbed skin. He got a look around, remembering the slight glimpses he’d acquired through his clairvoyance many days ago… and he eyed the way that had led to the dual red doors… and he started on his path.

It is cruelty, to instill false hopes such as one day flying away again.

Is it not?

He felt the blend of glamours, and even fields, all intermingled in the diverse crowd of patrons and workers. The path took him right back onto the deck, to a pair of red doors that had a sign above it: The Mad Queen. That’s where he suspected the madam would be… should he knock?

In his hands, he clung to the small box of stiff cardboard that’d been painted a vivid red and strung together with a four-way line of thin twine, with a bow on top. He tried not to fidget but found it difficult with the cocaine that ran through the fast pump of blood along his veins. The Queen was far busier than he expected, and practically bustling with all sorts of people. Sailors, and pirates, sure, but other types too. A range from laborers to more suitable gentlemen that wouldn’t be expected to set foot in a place like this, yet there they were like all the rest. Everyone seemed to be going everywhere, and there weren’t any spots of quiet. He was reminded of the busy alleys in the Stacks, that tried to catch drunk people on their way between pubs, to sell and trade various goods that weren’t usually found within the confines of polite establishments.

Meraki wandered back below deck. Even with the cocaine, he felt a bit uncertain about his plan… if one could call it a plan. He simply couldn’t hold his patience anymore. Not after everything, in the last several hours, that had transpired. He couldn’t bear the thought of Lars returning to work at the Mad Queen. Not even for one more hour. Not even one minute. He didn’t know what he might do if he had to just stand idly by and watch as his fragile lover walked back into this place of sin.

His gaze lifted somewhat, on his second trip into the tavern area, and he got easily distracted when he caught sight of a dancer on the stage. There was far more skin to see than not. The tsat muttered to himself, “Now, ent that somethin’…”

“I could show y’ somethin’ more ‘an ‘at, love,” chirped a petite woman beside him.

He looked over, eyes widening as he hadn’t thought he’d been noticed. Yet there she was, looking at him like a hungry cat looked at an injured bird. The harlot wasn’t a terrible sort to look at. She had dark ringlets pinned up in a composed fashion, except for a few strands that had gotten wayward and hung loose around her human bone structure. Her eyes were… some color… but Meraki got distracted by the heaved cleavage that nearly poured out the sloped collar of her dress. From how short she was, he hadn’t expected those.

“Oh… I- uh-” he stammered. His face pulsed with how hot he felt, though it was difficult to tell as he’d been blushing red since he’d stepped into the place. Gods, he felt so angry but also so overwhelmed. “I’m not-”

“C’mon, love, no need to be a fright. Let’s get y’ a stiff one,” offered the woman as she wrapped herself around his arm. Her plentiful bosom pressed against him. She clarified when she noticed his expression. “…a drink, love. Get y’ a drink. Unless…”

“No! That’s- uhm… that’s okay,” he stumbled as he pushed away from her, then accidentally jostled into another man who’d been standing from a table. Meraki paused, and recognized him from working at the docks. The man grumbled, but let it go with a roll of his eyes and a quick silent move away when he recognized Meraki. “Whoops, ah, no. I wanted to- if I could- speak to someone?”

“Speak to someone?” repeated the woman over the din of the crowd. She placed a hand on her hip. “Y’ already got a tumble y’ lookin’ for?”

“Not… not exactly,” he managed. “Iwantedtospeakwithmadamjezebel?”

“Wassat? Speak up, love,” said the harlot, already scanning the crowd for a new potential target.

“I wanted to speak with Madam Jezebel,” insisted Meraki in a bit firmer tone of voice.

The harlot stopped. She placed her other hand also on her hip. “Why’s that? Y’ don’t got to talk to ‘er if y’ lookin’ for so-”

“Yes, I do,” he interrupted. His tone of voice and his expression turned stern. “I must speak with her, if she is able to be called on. I have… a… a very specific request to make. One I… I’d rather not say out here.”

“Oh. Ohhh, I see,” said the harlot. She glanced over him, then shrugged. “Right, y’ stay here.”

Meraki nodded, but as he waited while keeping an eye on the woman, he started to feel otherwise. He felt restless. He didn’t want to stay still. And he didn’t like how the harlot was talking to some very large man while pointing at him like he was…

…yeah, he didn’t like that. Meraki slid aside, ducked behind a group of pirates, then sneaked around to get back up the stairs. He wasn’t about to wait around to get thrown out. The lone tsat hurried back up the path, to find the way he’d seen in his scrying that led into the place where he assumed the contracts were held – which he also assumed must be the same place as the madam for his scry had been unable to get farther than past the open door before it’d vanished.

Holding onto the box still, he took a deep breath. He watched as some random people wandered past, then he knocked on the pair of red doors. Meraki shuffled his feet, boots feeling heavy, glanced around, and he hoped… he hoped the madam was there, and that he might be able to speak with her, and he thumbed the tincture in his pocket some. Maybe he needed to take more. His body still ached, his mind still felt weary, his vision still blurry with spots of bleary lights, but he had taken just enough cocaine to push through the exhaustion.

The tsat scuttled a little farther away. He took out the tincture and drank a bit more of the potent liquid before hurriedly setting it back in his pocket. Meraki inhaled sharply, then turned back around with the full intention to knock on the red doors until someone opened them.

[Raksha]

8th Vortas, 2719
MAD QUEEN | 28th Of The Clock

Scurriers.

That’s what they called them, those gentlemen who lingered outside of the Queen, as though they were building up the courage to step up the gangplank onto the deck. Those twitchy fellows who were fighting with the thought that this was so wrong but couldn’t resist seeing what lay beyond the threshold of that great painted sign. Those easily startled mice of men who bounced around the lower deck once inside like they were jostled by the very sights and sounds of the incense laden rooms.

Scurriers.

The more experienced folk, they knew the deal. In, out, wide eyed and stammer tounged. Some of them played games, teased the frightful things and laughed at the usually dramatic outcomes. Others favored them, delighted to be the poor mouses first bird, showing off all the bells and whistled. And others, the security by the doors and roaming the floors, abhorred them. Fresh meat, stupid and troublesome. Too often the fights over ging or tail were started by these pieces of spitch. Most of them were usually too young, or too posh, for their own good. Wesley, bless his soul, had especially hated them.

Boris was sure that Wesley’s legacy lived on. Bad Brothers, friends, comrades to the end.

“That fookin’ scurrier won’s t’ speak t’ th’ Queen? Fook orf.” The burly tanned human mangled through his Estuan as the large bossomed tumble, thick tattooed arms crossed over a shirt that barely held together over a hairy swollen chest. He frowned, and it tugged on the scar that gouged deep across one cheek, a spread of burn marks that were aged and pink. His dirty graying brown hair was thinning, receding from his forehead and braided down his back, and his long mustache and beard were braided at the front. Sucking on yellowed teeth, Boris shook his head.

“Miss Scarlett’s go’ better things t’ do than deal wif a fookin’ ersehole like tha’—oh for fooks sake whare th’ fook did he go?!” The man growled, waving his meaty hand angrily at the crowd where Meraki was no longer nervously standing in. The tumble looked around, shaking her head, searching the faces around them.

And meanwhile, the wick knocked on the red doors.

There was no answer, not right away. Meraki may as well have knocked on the wall of the tavern for all the motion that occurred. He would sneak his drop of courage, and knock again, and time would tick over. Time would carry on, and the red doors would remain shut.

“Oi, you! Scurrying piece o’ shit! Get away from thare!” A booming, rough voice bellowed as heavy footsteps pounded across the deck of the Mad Queen. Boris had murder in his hazel eyes as he barreled for the slight man. He would reach the wick, grasping the sweater by the front with both hands and preparing to quite literally throw Meraki off deck.

“What do we have here?” A sultry, rich voice came from the doors, opened now behind the kerfuffle. A waft of even more scents came from within, thick and cloying, a small haze of smoke escaping into the night air. Boris didn’t let go of the man, but he looked behind him.

“A scurrier Miss. Nothin’ more. He’s just leavin’.” The burly man snarled, glaring down at Meraki and tightening his fists. Footsteps, hard heels on the wooden deck sounded as the woman walked from the room, walked around slowly, yellow eyes drifting lazily over the too warm wick under sweater and velvet and burgundy shirt. Scarlett stopped beside Boris, red hair pinned up around her pale face, porcelain breasts barely contained behind a silk and lace crimson robe that flowed loose around long pale legs. One hand lifted to gently brush against the large mans forearm, whilst the other hand held a thin cigarette holder to her painted full lips.

“Ahh, my pet, but this one isn’t just any scurrier. It came and it knocked on the Captains doors. That’s bravery in itself, is it not? Bravery, or stupidity, but then sometimes that is the same thing.” Her voice was quiet, calm, almost contemplative. The chill of Vortas seemed not to effect her, even if her breath plumped gently. Around her, the madame’s glamour was held close and non-descript, holding no emotion or colorshift that could be discerned. Dragging a delicate puff on the cigarette, the lascivious woman smiled, though it would feel unsettling, like the smile of a shark before it sliced off your arm.

“Let him go, darling.” Boris complied, though he shoved Meraki rather than just releasing him, scowling the whole while. Scarlett strolled through the red doors, stopping just inside and gesturing to the room.

“Come in, my dear.” She all but breathed, walking further inside without looking back to see if he followed.

Within the room, it was just as red and low lit as the deck below, thick with incense and warm with body heat. A writing desk sat on the right of the room, ornate and fancy in dark redwood and a matching chair. Drawers of the same nature were beside it, and on the table top were papers, and a seachart. To the left of the room was a modest dining table, full of fruits and meats and cheeses and breads and wine, all deliciously fresh and succulent. An ornate Hoxian designed screen blocked off what appeared to be Scarlett’s dressing room, the top of a vanity mirror just peeking above it, and at the far end of the long room was a large and luxurious bed. The crimson quilts were mussed by the two bodies occupying it. A man and a woman, naked and touching, though it appeared they were post-coital at this stage, asleep amid the folds of the linens. Two low tables on either side of the bed held bottles and glasses of booze, and various tools of the tumble trade that Scarlett clearly knew a thing or two about.

Approaching the dining table, Scarlett reached for one of the silver pewter jugs and poured two goblets of the deep red rich wine. Lifting one by the rim, she placed it on the edge of the table nearest Meraki before picking up her own and taking a deep sip.

“So, what brings such a brave pretty bird into the Queen’s den?” The witch asked, looking the wick over like a prospective cattle farmer at an auction.

[Meraki]

The Mad Queen
28th Hour, 8 Vortas 2719

If he had to stand outside the red doors all night, he would knock and he would wait and he would pace, but he wouldn’t leave the Mad Queen until he managed to speak with the madam. Even if he got thrown right overboard; why, he’d scuttle right back on because now he’d gotten it in his head what his plan was and by the gods, he wouldn’t falter now.

Meraki startled when he heard the natt’s boom of a warning demand, accompanied by the heavy stomp of a rushed approach. He swiftly turned around, but only fast enough to get grabbed by the intimidatingly large human. The half-breed quickly threw his hands up in a surrender gesture, though he desperately kept hold of the small box. He couldn’t help but grin, a slanted nervous expression, and he anxiously laughed, about to say something that probably would have made things a lot worse and resulted in a punch to the eye – but Meraki ended up being lucky when someone else spoke instead.

He felt the woman’s aura first. It didn’t feel like much of anything, other than it was her’s. The smoke wafted in heavy aroma. Yet, when the Queen herself walked around and he finally got a look at her, Meraki felt surprised. He had known about a few madams in the Stacks, and they sure didn’t look like this lady. Polished, yet libertine, she struck him as incredibly attractive in that way only certain beauties could manage to accomplish. His dark green eyes flitted in a swift boyish wonder at her figure. What a lovely robe she had, silk and lace and crimson, made for pale skin… he cleared his throat and quickly forced his gaze back up while the woman sharply smiled at him. She easily commanded the brute beside her.

Meraki stumbled when let go with the shove, but he fixed his hair with a brush of his hand over the copper-blond locks. He sniffed, the tip of his nose still a bit red from being out in the cold as long as he had been. The wick kept his mouth shut though, for the moment, and when Scarlett invited him into the quarters, he only hesitated a little. He shuffled back and forth a couple times, fidgeted with the box between both his hands, then hurried after her so the warmth wouldn’t be lost. Meraki carefully shut the doors behind him.

A surveying sweep, he looked around immediately and then winced when he remembered that wasn’t necessarily a polite thing to do. There was a lot to look at though, and everything was so vivid and lush that it almost demanded his attention in some form or the other. The hedonistic décor of ornate furniture, a banquet of extremely delicious looking food, a sensual couple slumbering on a bed, liquor and… tools of the trade. It was far too hot in here too. He pulled at the collar of his sweater some, cleared his throat, and followed to the dining table like a puppy following its mother.

The Anaxi glanced at the offered wine, then looked at the woman who…. looked back at him with an appraising, and vaguely concerning, sort of glint in her yellow eyes.

…what had been the plan again?

“Oh…” said Meraki weakly before he lifted himself a little taller and then nodded. He awkwardly bowed too, half-way to make it not too much, and then inquired to confirm, “Madame Jezebel?”

He tried the name and title hesitantly, ready to be corrected to whatever the woman might prefer for him to call her. Did he really have to call her queen? He’d thought that to be more of an underground term bandied about by those who talked about her, not some sort of official title he was meant to use in her presence… but now… now he didn’t feel quite so sure. The cocaine helped his confidence some, though, as he composed himself.

“I apologize if I went about this wrong, miss, but I needed to call on y’… been meanin’ to for a while, but couldn’t wait anymore,” he started with his poor, working-class Brunnhold accent. His pronunciation didn't sound like a wick, he sounded like a human. He set the red box on the table, as near to the woman as he dared get, which wasn’t that close… only about until their auras brushed particles. “Th-this is for the bother, for y’ takin’ the time to see me and… I hope y’ don’t take offense, but I ent gonna be drinkin’. I got a nasty spot of an ache in my head that can’t be gettin’ any worse tonight.”

Meraki hesitated, then he stepped back once, and he pulled off his sweater. Sure, it wasn’t polite in formal company to simply undress in front of a lady like that… but then, there were two naked people only a short distance away from them. And he wasn’t quite so sure if the madame considered herself a lady proper. She called herself queen, but she had been a pirate after all. Already at a disadvantage when it came to etiquette, Meraki simply tried his best with a blend of what he knew and what felt right. He smoothed out the burgundy shirt, the first two buttons left undone in a glimpse of the freckled skin between his collarbones.

“I is wantin’ to talk wit’ you about a kov of mine,” he explained in staccato, raspy words. His voice, since he’d started talking, couldn’t get very loud it seemed. Hardly more than a forced whisper, throat sore and hoarse. He was trying though, to make himself audible, a strained pitch to the tsat’s voice. “Or not about, that ent the right way to say it. On behalf, maybe? He tumbles here…”

He stopped then and glanced to see if she’d opened the box yet. Past the bowed twine, inside the cardboard dimensions of the small giftbox, there was colorful red paper torn up to create a bed for a small yet ornate trinket box of polished wood and a painted floral design of a colorful garden. It wasn’t too expensive, being so small in size and only wood rather than any metal material, but he hoped it looked nice enough. The box itself was empty, but lined with red velvet felt. Of course, compared to the ornate furniture in the room, it probably seemed nothing more than something to throw on the fire, for tinder, to Scarlett Jezebel.

But Meraki held true to the offered gift and said nothing apologetic about it. He folded his sweater over his arm, and focused on not fidgeting or shuffling. The half-breed held motionless for a minute or so, while he fixed his gaze to observe the woman’s expressions.

[Raksha]

8th Vortas, 2719
MAD QUEEN | 28th Of The Clock

Scarlett raised an arched brow, sipping her wine and tilting her head slightly in acknowledgement of his question.

“At your service, my pet.” She said softly, lowering her goblet slightly to puff on the thin cigarette and watch the wick carefully as he fumbled through his thoughts to find his tongue again. Her tawny gaze drifted to the box as Meraki spoke without the usual drawl of the Rose, though she didn’t reach for it right away, taking another draft of the wine before placing the drink down carefully.

"For me? Aww, you shouldn't have." She reached for the twine with delicate fingertips, tugging lightly to release the wrapping and open the box. Lifting the ornate box gently, the madame turned it this way and that, opening the lid and looking inside whilst the copper blonde man removed his sweater.

“Well isn’t that lovely? I don’t think I’ve had anyone bring me such a lovely gift in a long time. I’m got just the thing for it too. Later.” Her yellow eyes lifted again, skimming over the burgundy shirt and freckled skin exposed just so underneath, closing the lid and placing it back on the table with another puff on her cigarette.

“You know, if you’re looking for work my ship could do with such a delightful little copper finch.” Scarlett said with a smile, gesturing with her free hand at all of him, taking one last inhale of the cigarette. Butting it out in his cup of wine, the piratess let the smoke drift slowly from painted lips, studying Meraki carefully.

“On behalf of your kov, you say? Well aren’t you just the sweetest bit of pie there ever was.” The madame purred, taking a step closer to the wick, her field held tightly away from his own. She turned her head to look at the table, tugging on a large purple grape and bringing it to her mouth, biting it in half as she looked over the man in silence. Finishing the mouthful with a purposeful lack of urgency, the red head smiled again.

“And why, darling, are you here on behalf of them exactly? My birdies can always come and talk to me themselves, they all know that. I look after my birds.” Her smile turned into a sudden pout, hands toying with the loose end of her robes tie, eyes dropping to look at it almost forlorn.

“Everyone thinks I’m such a scary person, but honestly it’s just not true. I care deeply. Who else takes in those poor, poor people who need a job and a roof over their heads? I’m just doing my part to help those less fortunate then ourselves, you know?” Scarlett sighed, tilting her head with the question, brow furrowed slightly.

“So tell me, pet, what is so important that you’ve had to come on behalf of your kov?” She asked in that same quiet voice, though the way she spoke the last few words held an edge of something else. As though there was some inside joke, but it was so obscure that it might be a trick of the imagination.

[Meraki]

The Mad Queen
28th Hour, 8 Vortas 2719

The madam expressed approval for the gift, but Meraki did little more than nod in acknowledgment for it. He focused on why he had come, not wanting to get sidetracked so much that he might forget to properly discuss the very reason why he set foot on the Mad Queen at all. Similarly, he only nodded when she tapped her cigarette ash into his rejected wine and offered… a job… he supposed that’s what it was, despite how casual the job offer was. His shoulders tensed, but he otherwise suffocated any obvious reactions. It wasn’t an unexpected statement, given what he knew about her.

His gaze glanced down when she stepped closer, then back up while she bit into the fresh grape. The hazy blur of his vision helped, in this regard, as he couldn’t look too closely at the little fruit dewdrops that collected along the painted red lips before the queen devoured the rest of the grape, then smiled. He nodded, again… and this time, he included a quiet hum to accompany the simple gesture of his head.

The seductive woman’s eyes lowered, and his gaze lowered as well to also look at the loose end of the robes’ tie. He listened without interruption, not daring to force a word in and, also, having no interest in doing so. Meraki slid a hand to smooth out the sweater folded over his arm. He tried to ignore the anger that rose in the back of his throat like bile. Much of his attention diverted to make sure he controlled the expression on his face and the stillness of his body. His gloved fingers tapped against the sweater some.

A languid raise of his sight, he averted his gaze and looked over toward the couple on the bed. He frowned, a simple downturn at the corner of his mouth. The tsat hadn’t answered her rhetorical questions, for he took them as just that – rhetorical. Who else takes in these poor, poor people who need a job and a roof over their heads? I’m just doing my part to help those less fortunate then ourselves, you know? He nodded, twice.

Meraki drew his gaze away from the couple, not sure if they were completely slumbering or if they were eavesdropping on the exchange. He slowly returned his gaze to look at the woman, and he felt an instinct to step away, but he knew his voice was already soft to begin with. He wanted her to hear him, so he remained as close in proximity as she wanted.

“It’s of a sensitive nature, Ms. Jezebel,” he began, fingers dug into the sweater he held, fabric creasing underneath them. His pulse quickened. He felt sweat gather along his temples. Meraki brushed one side dry with the back of his glove. He lowered his hand to undo the next button his shirt and lightly billow the burgundy fabric to let fresh air onto his skin. “I ent sure if you knew that you’re employin’ a passive?”

A sharp, swift tilt of his head and the tsat flipped his copper-blond bangs aside. He glanced over the woman’s expression. He continued in his low whispery rasp of a voice, “Suspect he ent the only one, maybe? Who is more ill-fortuned, and in need of help, than that?”

He shrugged, not expecting an answer for either of those statements. His boots shuffled while he adjusted the weight of his balance. Meraki smiled, but it was a nervous small glance of a smile that barely showed any teeth at all, and his dark green gaze flitted about to look at the table next to them. His skin tingled somewhat, the heat of his body still rising and he supposed it might have something to do with the cocaine but he couldn’t be sure. Maybe it was those golden eyes, or...

“He ent in a place to come ‘round, given that… well…” he lifted his gaze to look at the madame and he said with an attempt at pronunciation as if he weren't too sure about the accuracy of the word, “…given his d-dia-dia-bl-er-ie, diablerie, if y’ don’t mind me sayin’, Ms.”

“He’d hate it if he knew I came ‘bout to tell y’ but it took a toll on ‘im,” continued Meraki in explanation while he absently scratched at the sweater draped over his arm. “He’s hardly able to gets out o’ bed… but he ent doin’ well, hard to recover being worried ‘bout his debt and all. So I came ‘round to see if they ent some sort of… understanding we might come to, on ‘is behalf. Can’t imagine y’d want ‘im workin’ like that, given how deep y’ care? I don’t know how these ‘ings work, Ms.”