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blood and whiny jesters
[Shiiiiiiit.
Shitshitfuckshit. Shit and then double fuck, and FUCK AGAIN.
How has this happened? This bullshit is why he never comes to the living world; he's a performer, an entertainer, not an action hero! Why did he ever let Blitzø talk him into coming to observe him at work, just so the asshole could show off?
"It's just one job, Fizz. You'll be nowhere near the guns and blood, Fizz. It's totally safe and I'll have you back to your big royal chicken in one piece, Fizz. Don't you want to see the living world at least once in your life, Fizz?"
He is going to punch that dickhead SO HARD when he gets home. Because it will be when, right? Not if. And then he will never ever set foot outside the Lust Ring again, let alone outside of Hell.
It had all happened in a flash of white hot pain and the smell of magic gone wrong, the pages of the Prince's tome fluttering and the spell going awry at the last moment. Instead of a nice safe portal opening from the offices of I.M.P. into whatever part of the living world Blitzø's contract was in, Fizz found himself tumbling through a nauseating vortex of images and sounds that make no sense.
And when it stops things don't get less confusing.
The light is fucking dim, and all he can see is stone before he has to fall to his knees and retch from the sensation of whatever the shit had gone wrong. Urgh. Shakily, he wipes a hand over the back of his mouth, unaware that he's crash-landed straight in front of someone like the weirdest multicoloured unwanted houseguest.]
...Blitzø? Fuck.
[His voice is harsh and raspy, as if he smokes about eighty a day, the bells on his hat jingling when he shifts a bit to try and look around.]
Shitshitfuckshit. Shit and then double fuck, and FUCK AGAIN.
How has this happened? This bullshit is why he never comes to the living world; he's a performer, an entertainer, not an action hero! Why did he ever let Blitzø talk him into coming to observe him at work, just so the asshole could show off?
"It's just one job, Fizz. You'll be nowhere near the guns and blood, Fizz. It's totally safe and I'll have you back to your big royal chicken in one piece, Fizz. Don't you want to see the living world at least once in your life, Fizz?"
He is going to punch that dickhead SO HARD when he gets home. Because it will be when, right? Not if. And then he will never ever set foot outside the Lust Ring again, let alone outside of Hell.
It had all happened in a flash of white hot pain and the smell of magic gone wrong, the pages of the Prince's tome fluttering and the spell going awry at the last moment. Instead of a nice safe portal opening from the offices of I.M.P. into whatever part of the living world Blitzø's contract was in, Fizz found himself tumbling through a nauseating vortex of images and sounds that make no sense.
And when it stops things don't get less confusing.
The light is fucking dim, and all he can see is stone before he has to fall to his knees and retch from the sensation of whatever the shit had gone wrong. Urgh. Shakily, he wipes a hand over the back of his mouth, unaware that he's crash-landed straight in front of someone like the weirdest multicoloured unwanted houseguest.]
...Blitzø? Fuck.
[His voice is harsh and raspy, as if he smokes about eighty a day, the bells on his hat jingling when he shifts a bit to try and look around.]
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－Gods, it really is just the most charming thing. Here, in this world, where humans have killed elves for trifles and hung halflings for the crime of being short-statured. Here, in this world, where witchers are called mutants for slaughtering monsters that simply deigned to exist near so-called civilization.
Fizzarolli, who is someone from literal Hell, has the decency to apologize for saying something that could be construed as ignorant. Regis turns, looks over his shoulder with cheese in hand, and laughs brightly. ]
Someone with courage, integrity, and nobility. [ Without patronization. His smile is sincere but tight-lipped so as not to show teeth, a habit he's picked up over hundreds of years. ] Hell must be a wonderful place, with you in it.
[ Another light chuckle, and he shakes his head. ] No, you haven't offended at all. Many vampires do drink, to varying degrees of indulgence and violence. I simply chose not to, out of circumstance and principle. [ The last bit is a bit solemn, but it doesn't quite hit "sad". ] At any rate, I find rumors about vampires quite funny. You've no need to worry about my feelings on the matter.
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On the other hand... what the fuck does he do with a compliment like that?
He's used to compliments, he has adoring fans in every Ring of Hell and his might be the most famous face down there. But his compliments are usually along the lines of how awesome his tricks are, or how much they would like to fuck him, or how well the Fizzies do fuck them. Not... nobility, courage, and integrity.
Fizz flushes and reaches over Regis' shoulder to take a hunk of cheese to shove in his mouth to have something to do, his cheeks hamster full when he answers. Why does he choose to launch into his performer's sales pitch? He doesn't even know himself, it's just what comes out.]
R-Right, that's me, the famous Fizzarolli... making Hell a wonderful place to be at all my shows. Nightly at Ozzie's, and touring regularly under Mammon. And if that's not enough, you can always buy a Fizzie~!
[Shut up, Fizz. He tails off awkwardly, giving a hoarse and uncomfortable chuckle.]
Uh-- or not, sorry. Habit.
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－or, so Regis assumes. It's not like he can claim to know, but there's something a bit jarring about the sudden tonal shift that Fizzarolli takes, not dissimilar to how Geralt would always deflect discussions about the quality of his character by saying that his witcher mutations made him impossible to be cared for.
This time, the expression on Regis' face does read as slightly sad. More so than when he shared his drinking habits, or lack thereof. He reciprocates that touch that Fizzarolli gave him earlier over his clothes, his fingers resting carefully on what feels to be cold metal. ]
It's quite alright. [ Memories surface of companions lost to time, ages ago. ] Though I meant what I said without knowledge of your fame or your reputation.
[ "Or the fact that you've sold yourself", feels too intrusive. His hand remains near where he approximates Fizz's wrist would be. ]
Are you a bard?
try not to judge me
Funny.
The insistence on reiterating the compliment makes his skin itch a little, the discomfort growing. He can almost hear Ozzie's voice in his head: Froggie, it's okay to let people see the real you. Well... shut up, Big Daddy.]
A bard?
[That, at least, is a question he can answer.]
Fuck no, I'm a jester. I'm a clown. I'm Fizza-fucking-rolli.
[Suddenly, he wants to be moving, to be proving he's still himself even in a cemetery of an insane new world. He grabs another mouthful of cheese, and then music seems to come from nowhere. Not that Fizz is surprised by it-- this is the gift that Lilith gave to Hell, songs and music, and it's a gift that Fizz has honed well over his years.
As the introductory music builds, Fizz zips back from Regis and extends to stand on top of one of the sarcophaguses, spreading his arms wide and bowing. And then he's off, singing in his raspy voice as he performs, graceful in his acrobatics and utilising what few props and juggling balls he has concealed on him.]
🎵The best of all the jesters
In all the seven Rings
It's the famous Fizzarolli
Fuckin' funny... and he sings
I'm flexible, just ask Ozzie
A master of spinning fire
Blindfolded knives, a thing of ease
I can dance on the high wire
My juggling is an art form
On the trapeze I am bespoke
Pies and balloons, easy for me
And I'll always finish with a joke
So keep your eyes fixed on me
Because I'm the best in all the biz
You'll want to fuck me, cheer me, love me
The one and only Fizz!🎵
[He finishes in the same place he started, bowing once more as the music dies away, grinning at Regis as if he's done nothing out of the commonplace.]
A bard, please.
LISTEN i love this!!!!!
He watches, rapt in a way that disarms himself, and heaves another laugh from the pit of his nonexistent stomach. It's a shame when Fizzarolli finishes, even if Regis thinks that certain bards would take umbrage at the crassness of some of the sung lyrics.
But then again, Fizzarolli said it himself: he's a jester, not a bard.
Regis is still bending his brain around the newness of this all, the novelty of it, as he claps for the performance. Sincere and surprised, which shows in his slightly-widened eyes. ]
Extraordinary－ my word, you really are quite the talent.
[ With apologies to Dandelion, who has definitely found his match. Regis stops clapping, but reluctantly. ]
It seems we'll have to expedite our search to send you back to Hell. There's no doubt you're sorely missed.
too kind <3 writing songs is HARD
So to feel Regis' genuine enjoyment of his performance fuels him, and the sincere pleasure of the moment is practically palpable, radiating from Fizz and informing every movement and inflection in the song. His smile is genuine, bright and delighted, at the compliments afterwards.]
Thank you so much, you're too kind. Now I can add higher vampires as fans to my list of accolades, huh? Pretty cool!
[He's mostly joking, slinking back over to the basket of food to take some more cheese.]
So-- you wanted to play a game of question and answer while we eat? Or I eat? Sounds like a good idea to me, the more we learn about each others species and worlds, the easier this shit will be.
[Performing has clearly loosened him up and pushed away reservations and anxieties, at least for now, his tail wagging slow and happy behind him.]
You want to go first, since I'm the intruder here?
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Anyway! That's a lot of philosophizing about a hell jester. Regis makes room for Fizz to perch on a slab of rock next to him if he'd like, and sets the basket and wine on top of two stacks of very thick, leather-bound books. ]
I prefer "visitor", [ he gently corrects. ] But, hm. Yes, I shall start if you've no objections.
[ No move to eat or drink on his end, though his dark eyes occasionally flit to the bottle. Abstaining has become harder and harder after his so-called "rebirth"; maybe it's Dettlaff's restless blood that compels him. ]
It's a widely regarded belief in this world that hell is where the souls of sinners go after they expire. This belief, in my opinion, serves two purposes: one, to discourage bad behavior and uphold an admittedly fragile moral order, and two, to give credence to the opposing idea of heaven.
[ Tl;dr- "I always thought heaven and hell were kinda bullshit, tbh." ]
I wonder how much this aligns with your reality.
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Maybe he'll ask on his turn.
For now he gives his attention to the question asked to him, and thankfully it's an easy one to answer.]
Yeah, that's exactly right. Once living humans die, their souls either go to Heaven or Hell depending on if they were a good person or not. Sinners are pretty powerful, and they can be unpredictable and dangerous, since they sort of-- exist in a different way to natural Hellborn creatures.
[That's a bit more of a complicated discussion, though, involving the Rings and the hierarchy, and-- well, time to go into that later.
Taking a small sip of wine, he contemplates what question he'd like to ask first in return.]
You know, it's really surreal to me that some people don't believe in Hell. The way you asked, it kind of sounded like maybe that includes you, so-- what did you think happened after people died?
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Thoughtful, Regis settles down and leans back. Long fingers drum across his knees, considering. ]
After one dies? Nothing at all. I'd always believed that legends and stories take the place of a tangible afterlife－ that we'd be kept alive by the virtue of historians and orators, not heaven or hell.
[ Bluntly, but without malice. "I never believed in your reality" is not a nice thing to say (he's been on the receiving end of this claim many, many times), but Regis means it as delicately as he can manage. He sympathizes, after all. ]
I've experienced death. Or something close to it, I suppose. There was never a crossing over, or a weighing of my actions to determine which end of the spectrum was more suitable for my soul.
[ A solemn, half-smile. ] It wasn't much of anything, truly. Which is why I didn't give the existence of Hell much thought.
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A flicker of empathy crosses Fizz's face when Regis shares about his near death experience-- no details, but he understands that. He knows that sometimes even speaking the bare minimum of it into existence can bring back the pain of it, and anything further gets caught in an unwilling throat.]
I'm glad you survived.
[The words are soft, but genuine.
He doesn't say I'm sorry. He's learned to hate that phrase himself, everyone was always so fucking sorry for what he lost, but no apologies could ever bring shit back. And worse, it always drove home there was something to be sorry for, that he was broken now.
Everyone was always sorry, nobody was ever glad that despite it all he lived.]
Not sure whether a vampire would end up in Heaven or Hell, but either way I'm glad you fought through it and you're here for me to have met you. I'd have been a lot more fucked without your kindness-- I can tell that already, and I haven't even been here a day.
[His smile gets a bit wider.]
But if you ever do end up in Hell, I'll be sure to visit Pride and say hi.
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His solemnity eases; the smile becomes just a smile, and becomes a half-grin by the time Fizz finishes. ]
Pride. [ A little huff, caught off-guard. ] I'll neither confirm nor deny that well-placed accusation.
[ Don't call him out like this!!!!!!!! jk though, because it's funny. Fizz has proven himself to be a capable jester 50 times over in the span of such a short amount of time, how impressive. ]
...Thank you, at any rate. It does remain an unfortunate truth that humans in this particular world tend towards xenophobia, but I shan't sour your experience of the surface before it's even begun. [ He'll have to go out tomorrow into the city for things like, you know, food and common amenities－ things to keep a guest comfortable, which are things he does not possess right now. He's not sure if he can leave Fizz alone in the crypt during that time, so he'll have to think on it.
In the meantime: ] Now, a question from you.
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Fizz is pretty sure he can handle that, it's not like the folks here are going to know to call him a fire toad or anything. But what he's getting from this is that he definitely needs to try and find a way to blend in, and that he probably shouldn't be shouting about Regis being a vampire when they're in mixed company.
There are so many questions he wants to ask now it's his turn; some of them far more serious than others, and some of them much more personal. He's not sure whether to start with this world, like Regis did regarding Hell, or whether to start with his new vampire friend.
In the end, he goes with his gut, even if it might not be the most relevant question.]
Do you want to play Gwent?...I noticed you keep looking at the bottle of wine, is it going to be an issue if I eat and drink in front of you? I guess-- do you miss it from when you were alive? Or-- human?
[Vampires all used to be humans, right?]
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......this question. Very well-aimed in some respects, which is both surprising and not. His new companion, Regis has found in this brief amount of time they've spent together, has the distinct ability to be very astute about the things that matter.
He pauses, letting that obvious beat of silence stretch for a bit longer than necessary. It's unintentional, which probably says more than if he'd actually said anything at all. ]
―Ah. A common misconception, [ is how he gently recovers from that pause, ] that vampires are made, not born. It just so happens that we are a race of our own, wholly separate from humans. I have never been mortal, and thus I cannot miss what I've never been.
[ That's the easy part to answer. The rest isn't difficult either, per se, but it's a bit loaded. Maybe something to tell in installments, instead of laying everything out on the proverbial table right now. He shifts in his seat, not uncomfortable but thoughtful. ]
As for eating, our anatomy doesn't restrict us to the mere consumption of blood. I sometimes dabble in food when the mood takes me. [ A smile, as if that's a funny thing to say. ] And drink, well－ I mentioned that I avoid partaking. Not just blood, but any stimulants.
...Did I truly look so wistfully at the bottle?
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But the rest of it is what he's really interested in, because it gives him insight into Regis as a person rather than just what he is. Blood is a stimulant? That's unexpected. So it's not just a food source, but it's some kind of drug? How strong? Something akin to caffeine? Alcohol? Or something that'll really fuck up the brain, like H-8?]
Yeah, a few times.
[He doesn't think it's helpful to lie to Regis about that. He definitely looked, it's what clued Fizz in that there was something to be asked about.
He flicks the top of the bottle, a ring of metal on glass, and offers an encouraging smile.]
I'm not a big drinker, I prefer coffee. Or water.
[If Regis has some kind of problem (addiction?), then Fizz has no desire to make it harder by being an insensitive idiot. Besides, he doesn't usually drink a large amount of alcohol anyway, it can mess with his medic-- Ah shit, no medication. Okay, well, best hope he has no bad pain days here.]
...thanks for telling me. Can't be easy to admit when you've got to abstain from something, but I'll do my best not to make shit harder for you.
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A breath that he doesn't need to take, and he softens in return for Fizzarolli's smile. Unbidden, he feels himself leaning over in his perch to rest his palm on the crest of his companion's head, between the two protrusions that he assumes are horns, and carefully smooths the fabric of Fizzarolli's hat. If Fizzarolli will let him, that is. ]
I cannot imagine, [ he says, trying to emphasize how serious he is about this, ] that you could ever make things harder for anyone. You astound me.
[ Another pat, again, if Fizz will let him. Regis gentles, though the expression borders on slightly melancholy again. ]
The reason for my abstaining is sordid and unpleasant. I don't mean to generalize, but the principle reason behind most individuals' decision to stop something altogether is if said something caused them to make grave errors and lapses in judgment. I doubt you would've been so kind to me if you'd met me a few centuries ago, alas.
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He's pretty sure Regis is a person with feelings, regardless the outer packaging, and that's all that matters. If he has addiction issues, then Fizz would be a fucking dickhole to make those worse, even if he wasn't relying on Regis' kindness and generosity to keep him alive here.
He opens his mouth to crack a lewd joke about how often he makes things harder for some people, but then that hand is suddenly on his head. Between the remains of his horns. And Fizz freezes.
A short and sharp intake of breath, a sudden fear that Regis is about to pull the soft cloth from his head and reveal the shame underneath. Broken, disgusting-- he... Wait. Fuck. He's just patting? A small shudder goes through him, but he has a smile forced back to his lips by the time Regis is withdrawing his hand, determined to cover it up.]
Yeah? Well, good thing I'm meeting you now then, isn't it? Besides, some people who 'make grave errors' never care enough to try and right their mistakes, so-- You can tell me the shit you did one day if you want, and it'll make you feel better, but you don't have to.
[He shrugs, spreading his hands. Maybe Regis did some awful things, but he's a step ahead of most people who never even bother to try and change.
Fizz can't help his hands lifting, touching his hat only for a second, just making sure it's still securely in place and his secret is safe.]
Uh, your question, I guess?
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Calmly, he places his hands back on his knees. Listens, and watches Fizzarolli recover from that light stumble with as much finesse as he'd shown during his performance, and also watches the follow-up stumble of him readjusting his hat. It's impolite of Regis not to register the kind words that are being offered to him so generously, but he's preoccupied with those micro-communications, the body language.
When he's prompted for another question, he almost asks "did I offend you, just then?"
He reconsiders, because this is meant to be a rapport, not an interrogation. So: ]
I would love to know your favorite color.
[ Guilelessly! He sits there, patient, and smiles. ]
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With the imminent danger over, he bounces back quickly to pay attention to the conversation. He's not sure what sort of question might be coming his way, but he's sure it'll be something serious-- maybe more about the structure of Hell, or about what Fizz is specificially, or--
--what?]
You would? Uh...
[He tilts his head to one side, confusion pretty clear on his face.
Does he even have a favourite colour? He's never really considered it before. When he was a kid he just wore whatever clothes Cash could afford to give him, mostly living in his performance outfits, and that hadn't changed when he got older. Suppose he used to be fond of his Mammon merchandise, but he's gone off green in recent years.
His second instinct would be to say red. The red of an imp's skin, the red he misses almost every time he looks at himself in a mirror. But that's a fucking depressing answer.]
Blue?
[He shrugs.]
My business part-- my partner's mane and feathers are blue, so I guess... blue.
[It's still weird to be able to claim Ozzie as his own openly, feels like revealing a dangerous secret even outside of Hell. But he's not going to disgrace the courage Oz showed for them both by going back to hiding it, even if he does slip up by going back to the ruses sometimes.]
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Regis huffs at his companion's non-committal answer, amused and warm. ]
Ah, so you've a partner. Giving your friend who caused this whole ruckus an earful, I'd imagine.
[ "Blitzø", as Regis recalls from that funny little contraption with the glowing screen. ]
This raises more questions, but I won't pry for now. [ Another low, soft laugh. ] Blue it is. I shall have to find you something suitably blue during my next excursion to the city.
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His heart aches to think of Ozzie's pain, instinct has him reaching for his phone again as if he can call and reassure his lover that he's alright, but he stops himself before pulling it out. It's pointless, no signal.]
Actually... maybe it might be important to pry, Oz could be an issue.
[Oz is gentle most of the time but Fizz isn't an idiot, he knows the Deadly Sin of Lust has a lot of power behind him and he's the man's weak spot.
He sighs, resting his hands on his knees, looking up at Regis with a worried frown.]
He's sort of overprotective, which-- let me tell you, getting fucking tossed into another world is not going to help with the arguments about if I get to go out without a bodyguard. And he's got power behind him, a lot of it. If he found out where I was and thought I was in real trouble, he could...
[Spreading his hands, a bit of embarrassment mingling with the concern.]
He's Asmodeus.
[Which explains it all, right? Surely even people who might not have believed in Hell have heard of the Seven Deadly Sins, the most powerful demons to exist.]
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－the name doesn't ring a bell. Regis picks up on the gravity of the reveal, of course, because Fizzarolli wouldn't have framed it in the way that he did without sufficient reason, but his knowledge of Hell is either folklore or the more academic "where did certain creatures who inhabit this world come from".
Which means that the intricate hierarchies of different dimensions are unknown to him, and he can only surmise. Fizzarolli mentioned something about his home being comprised of rings (seven of them?), and he assumes that, like in all worlds, there must be someone who holds dominion over one or all of them. Perhaps that's who Asmodeus is.
Anyway. Regis has to react, so: ] A name I'm unfamiliar with, I'm afraid. [ A slight bowing of his head, politely apologetic if not for the obvious undercurrent of curiosity that straightens his posture, makes him scoot a bit closer. Live a few hundred centuries, and one becomes hungry for new content. ] But, through the process of addition, I take it that he's someone with significant political power.
[ He tries not to smile, and fails. ] My sympathies. I do know how royalty can get, especially concerning their lovers.
[ Anna Henrietta, for example. She didn't take being spurned by Dandelion very well, but then again, that wasn't a misunderstanding or an accident. ]
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It hits him like a physical blow of homesickness and fear. He wants Ozzie right now more than he wants the breath in his lungs, he wants to hear that sultry voice and launch himself into arms that have always kept him safe.
Fuck. Fuck.
Fizz's eyes fill with tears and his tail winds around his legs in subconscious comfort. He does his best to blink away the evidence of his upset and push it down, to cover it with a perfect performance, but it's not entirely successful. His laugh is obviously forced and his smile is insincere.]
Right-- Fuck that was stupid of me, of course you wouldn't know Oz if you don't know hell.
[Shit. Shitshitshitshit.]
Have you heard of the Seven Deadly Sins? Pride, Wrath, Lust, Greed, Gluttony, Sloth, and Envy? Each of the Seven Rings of Hell is named after and ruled by one of the Deadly Sins, an immortal demon personifying that Sin. They've been around since the start of Hell, they're royal with a capital fucking R.
[Explaining this just makes him feel lonelier. It feels so clinical and also completely inadequate. How can words explain the power of the Sins?]
Ozzie-- Asmodeus-- he's the Deadly Sin of Lust.
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－The offer to break a glass or two still stands. [ "Allow yourself your emotions", Regis'd offered. Honestly, Fizzarolli's been handling all of this with a grace that most wouldn't have, and Regis hadn't even taken into account the possibility of his new visitor having someone who he'd miss like this, with what seems like the entire breadth of his being.
Perhaps he's too vampire to relate to that. He breathes through his nose, rubs the shoulder that his palm is still touching. ]
You will return to him. It will require a fair bit of consultation and patience from you, I expect, but we shall set things to rights.
[ A bit of nostalgia, here: he remembers Geralt sitting by himself away from their campfire, trying to convince everyone that he could find Ciri alone. An impossible task that seemed far more possible with the addition of helping hands.
Regis softens, and scoots closer. ]
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Except it's not.
And weeping like a little bitch-baby isn't going to change that. So he needs to get his shit together, and he needs to use this like he's used fear and pain and sorrow since the fire-- by making them his fucking fuel. He will not crumble and break, he won't go down, because he's fucking Fizzarolli and there are people waiting for him back home.
He'll be Satan-damned, but he's lucky to have wound up with Regis. Those comforting words go right to his soul, and the tentative gentle closeness of his presence is much appreciated.
Looking up at his new companion with a watery sort of smile, eyes bright in the darkness with determination, he suddenly extends his arms to wind them around Regis and himself three times over in a tight embrace.]
Thanks, Regis.
[He squeezes once and then retracts his arms again, rolling his shoulders as he lets his emotion bleed out of him with one long sigh.]
You're right, we'll figure this out. Against the team up of mega vampire and cool clown, this shit doesn't stand a chance, so Oz'll just have to be patient for a bit. And if he makes trouble here somehow, we'll figure that out too.
[Right. He's fine. He's fine, absolutely fine. Push it all down, be better, be fine. It's his question, isn't it? So-- moving on.]
Uh-- okay, so... what's the one best piece of advice you have for not fucking up while I'm here? Like should I be bowing to everyone I meet, or am I going to cause an international incident if I fucking sneeze in public, that sort of shit.
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(And truly, all Regis has is time. Always, forever.)
One more pat to Fizz's interestingly-built knee, and Regis lets the subject drop. ]
Yes, that. You would cause a bit of a ruckus were you to appear in public exactly as you are.
[ An apologetic little quirk of his lips. He mentioned the xenophobia thing, and it will definitely remain a hurdle that they'll have to jump over again and again. ]
I don't expect your manners will be the issue [ maybe less cursing in general, but, you know ], as much as your... [ Hm. ] ...physiognomy. Humans in this world aren't terribly tolerant of anything that doesn't look exactly like them, and even when the differences are negligible, the closeness is enough to breed contempt.
In other words: if we're to take you anywhere, you would have to wear a mask. And hide your tail.
[ The hat is fine, Regis figures. An accoutrement. ]
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i thought i replied to this weeks ago and i hadNT HIT SEND
MY TURN TO CURSE DW FOR EATING A TAG ):
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