bishophart - Tumblr blog

[bishophart]

There was a long beat after Bishop caught the ball and held it in his hand; he waited to lob it again, squeezing it idly in his grip as he considered telling River to just go fuck himself. Instead, he went for it. "It'll be easier if I show you." Bishop unceremoniously brought the pistol to his temple and let the shot ring out in the chamber. A few motionless seconds went by, and then Bishop's head rolled forward again, and the darkfriend stood up. "You killed me, but uh, death doesn't really stick to me these days." He wiped the blood and gray matter of the side of his head where the bullet had gone in, there wouldn't even be a scar, not from where it went in and not from where it had come out. Bishop looked towards the wall that had bits of him on it still, "Fucking gnarly though, right?"

River should have anticipated the words that slipped from Bishop's tongue, the continued attempt to joke solely about the species that he had become. A part of his mind, the one that had once been so carefree and reckless, wanted to believe that the other didn't mean anything beyond the humor of it. The other part of his mind, the one that seemed controlled solely by the beast within him, believed the words as they were. Pointed, vindictive, with the full intention to anger and piss him off. The words, the impending full moon; the hold that it had over him, and the feelings that he could no longer control tensed each of his muscles. As if he were preparing for a fight that would not come. "Trying to hide your jealousy behind humor? And after only a minor hookup?" There was a strain to his voice, as he pushed the anger that rippled through him further down. The full moon would rise soon enough, and with it would go his control. If River only had a few more moments to cling to such a thing, he would do so with both hands. His gaze had shifted to the ball, watched as it knocked against the cage, before down to the ground. But he kept his gaze from shifting back to Bishop, "How about you finally tell me what happened that night in the forest? The night I shifted."

[bishophart]

[bishophart]

There was no recognition when Bishop looked into the other's eyes, the stare wasn't vacant, but there were small things that the hunter picked up right away. Here he was standing in the middle of Wolfchella surrounded by all these fucking things and all he wanted to do was tear through whatever this was standing in front of him. "Who are you-" Bishop's first thought was demon but he didn't feel afraid he felt- angry was the most operative word because it was obvious that whoever this was in Krystal's body had no idea who he was. "what did you do to her?"

A haughty breath left her lungs and there was a boy across the room who looked cute and not just because he was holding an enticing cigarette, she had never smoked, had never committed a sin but her heavenly father had ate her family in a gory mess before her and she could never forget the gruesome sight and suddenly escapism through other means proved to be a temptation, gone was the righteous light that used to guide her.

It didn't mean that she loved being in a depraved den of sinners however, they were so obnoxious as they threw up from too many tequila test tube shots into the Christmas tree. She used to love Christmas, she remembered the first celebration in Eden and watched from above ever since. Rolling her eyes at the party antics, she didn't expect the approach and tilts her head in curiosity. A natural coldness in her voice. "Do I know you?" Using her gift of telepathy, she can see enough to know that this vessel had a curious shared history with the man she had spotted across the room earlier.

[bishophart]

Didn't land at all but that was fine, if there was one thing Bishop was going to do it was continuously insult someone over and over again. Worked pretty well: he had no friends, no family except for pencil-dick, and nobody had ever invited him to their shithead baby shower. Sure was a charmed life being an absolute hater, but at least it never got old waking up a brewing a steaming hot pot of who the fuck asked you? juice. "Wouldn't want you getting out and catching rabies or anything, fuck, what if you came back pregnant? Mutt like you?" Bishop pinched his lips together as he did a short, quick wolf whistle to punctuate the joke that much better. "The cage is strong but I'm not playing midwife to your litter." Bishop took a ball and bounced it against the side of the other's pen before he caught it in his hand, the loud thump from floor to cage wall was softened by the quick catch in the palm of his hand. He repeated the motion again, "What should we do in the meantime? Work on some more material?"

"Ouch," a hand lifted to the spot where his heart would be, splayed flat against his chest, "think that one really cut me deep." If there was one thing that River was going to do, it was to take advantage of the moments when Bishop definitely wasn't on top of his game. Then again, he supposed there were only so many times dog and mutt and whatever else could be used before the material fell flat. Well, until it started to matter less and less to River. Who still faced each day with the knowledge that he wasn't human, that he was undeniably a lycan. Perhaps he was finally getting a grasp on the whole anger bit, or maybe a part of him was coming to terms with the fact that this was indeed his life now. The hand to his chest lifted to the back of his neck, fingers pressed in as if the pressure would help draw his mind to a singular thought. Did he need Bishop to stay? He supposed not, since he hadn't yet broken out of the cage. But did he want Bishop to stay? His gaze focused intently upon the cage that would be his for the next few nights. Maybe it was just something about seeing a familiar face when he finally came to in the following morning. Even if the thought still rattled at the back of his mind, of Bishop and that night in the woods. "It would probably be for the best... if you stayed. You know, in case it doesn't hold," there was something about the way he voiced it that sounded odd to his own ears, as if there was something else beneath the words.

[bishophart]

There was just one last thing to take care of; Bishop tipped over a few cans of kerosene as the witch and the hunter stood in the doorway and watched with a bit of satisfaction as it spilled across the floor. Cops would call it arson, playful chaos that had caught someone in the crossfire with too many missing teeth to match to any dental records. If the marshals came sniffing around they wouldn't find much but a demon who'd been put down, maybe they'd care, maybe not: Bishop didn't care, he just couldn't make a habit out of doing shit like this in town. Emory was a golden retriever, nobody was going to connect him to this and Bishop didn't show up on cameras or with supernatural methods of detection. The hunt wasn't perfect, but Emory had done his part perfectly.

Bishop tossed a match and let the night go up in flames behind them as he caught up with his cousin and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Alright pencil dick, let's get out of here."

END

He hates it. He hates how much part of him loves the praise, feels almost comforted by it. There'd been a time he'd been chasing after it from his family, it'd been the ultimate goal. And when it became apparent his father was holding something like that over his head, it'd made him sick to hear any of his brothers get a compliment from the patriarch of the family. Emory is older now, the praise of the Hart family means little to him and he thinks that if he drinks and throws up it just looks like he's a lightweight. He can deal with that. "Yeah, sounds good." The smile he offers Bishop is genuine despite all of the conflicting feelings because it's not like he doesn't like the guy at his core. Hell, Emory had found over the years he actually liked his brothers more than he thought he did, not just the youngest. They'd all been so misguided for so long, he hoped he hadn't been the only one to find his way back to reality. But he sees how Bishop reacts to the corpse, more intrigue and excitement than remorse and he's not so sure.

[bishophart]

"You haven't been watching enough." Bishop argued stupidly because he didn't have any clever clapback in his back pocket and instead just held out some faint hope that maybe there was something they could do. There were about a million bits of folklore on how a wolf was made; drink from the wolf's pawprint under a full moon, wear their pelt on the third Sunday of the month, shake your dick at a tree that's been marked. It went on and on. A bite was easy, maybe going the other way was what was hard. "I don't have to... It held last time." Bishop thought it was probably stupid to sit here cursing the creature that rampaged in its cage rather than getting a good night's sleep. Maybe that wasn't the only reason he wanted to stay though. "But I would. Not like I got anything better to do."

There had been a need to push down any thoughts of Lupercalia from his mind. River had barely any control over the beast within him, no memories once he shifted; and now, all the lycans of Rome would be gathering with those that had come to see the spectacle. Tensions would be running high, with the combined shifting of those around him. The very thought put him on edge, made him hesitant on whether or not he should even show up. But the prospect of getting information would be too much to ignore. He couldn't very well pass up the opportunity of seeing some of these bastards in their lycan form. Maybe he'd recognize the one from the forest. Maybe he'd finally get the answers that he had been searching for. "You've been watching too many movies," he chided, though he couldn't deny that the same thought had crossed his mind. Several times, in fact. That maybe, just maybe, bringing down the one that had bit him, or the one that came first would end all of it. But his mind had pushed the thought away again, shifted his gaze to the cage, "Are you staying again for the night?"

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"Nah, never heard that before in my life." A blatant and obvious lie but it took someone a little unwell to run around hunting supernatural creatures in the middle of the night. It was hard to tell if he'd been born broken or if the breakage had happened slowly until this hunter made up of jagged edges was all that was left. "Guess not, but there's a lot of big fish in this city that I bet whatever did this to us wants to see dead." Or maybe they just liked violence, still, Bishop had his own agenda. "What do you think happens when you kill a God?" Or an original lycan, vampire, or whatever else. Bishop didn't know, but he liked speculating.

"Anybody ever tell you, ya got a few screws loose up there?" There's a half-grin planted on the Archer's face as he pairs the question with a finger pointed to his head, rolling it in that crazy notion. It wasn't the smartest thing in the world to prod at someone who genuinely was a bit twisted, but if Bishop didn't like the teasing, Wade would really just jump right back up again once Bishop cooled off. "Neither have I, it might've been able to save me a few close calls if I'd heard of it before; though I guess it's not something they're takin' direct auditions for." How long the Archer had sought after The Eye only for them to turn against what they were crafted for; it was an embarrassment, and it seemed the Brotherhood was keen to clean up what the organization had failed to deliver on.

[bishophart]

Lupercalia would see the gates of that walled city spread nice and wide; Bishop wasn't planning on starting anything, but the intel they could get would be useful. All those wolves would be showing off, letting the whole of Rome see what they were capable of and how strong they were. It was so fucking arrogant, but it worked in the darkfriend's favour. He was just one guy, one of four as far as he knew, but even a city had weaknesses, and there was only one prize in there worth going after. "Do that." Bishop said simply; he scratched idly at his chin as he considered letting River in on something. Some motivation could help. "All these 'original' things, your curse started with Lycaon; maybe it can end with him too. We kill the big bad wolf and there's a chance you don't have to use this cage anymore."

There were only two options that stretched out before River now: either live with what he was, or put himself down like many hunters would have done already. There would be no going back, no reversing the curse simply by putting down the one that had bitten him. Despite what some movies claimed was the way of lycanthropy. How fucking comical it was when movies got it wrong again, and again, and again. Because maybe that would have been some sort of solace for River, to know that this could all go away once he put a bullet between the eyes of the fucker who had done this to him. "Yeah, he's there," which spoke to more than River knew in the moment. "Haven't met him yet, but others talk him up," most of these lycans were loose lipped, seemingly ready to spill any trade secrets so long as the one listening was the same as them. "Not that I've seen," though, he'd hardly spent too much time within Lupercal's walls. There was something about being surrounded by lycans that set him on edge. "But I'll keep an eye out. See if I can get anyone to give me more information about them." Because if there was one, surely there had to be others? Ones that didn't particularly find favor upon the streets of Rome.

[bishophart]

Magic was a nuisance, but it looked cool. Bishop had heard these exact words dozens of times over. Demons. Spirits. Few words and they were broken down from their core and sent burning into wherever the fuck they needed to get sent back to. Bishop stood back, arms folded, and watched Emory at work. He didn't think he'd actually go through with it; maybe the darkfriend was wrong about him.

These days, demons were small fry, but if this was a test then Emory had managed to skate by. A little bit of malevolence would've earned him some flying colors, but the thing was dead, and that was really all that mattered. The more powerful creatures wouldn't go down so easily, but a good plan was all it would take. Being unkillable would obviously help too.

"Looky looky," Bishop chimed as his hand clapped Emory's shoulder and took a hard, firm grip there as he squeezed. "didn't think you could get it up, pencil dick." He ruffled the back of the other's hair as he snickered over the molten corpse of what was once an incubus; one down, probably about a dozen left to go. "I'm proud of you." Maybe Emory's dad would be, too, he could do without that depressing air of sorrow that was coming off the witch, but that'd go away. "C'mon, let's go celebrate. Brews on me."

He wants to explain it's all different like this. That what his father had done with the boys had been taking demons from mortals, other witches even. This was a person, this was someone with a life. Whether they were 'good' or not, didn't matter, just looking at them, at their eyes, Emory feels sick. He wants to say he's not doing this, that this isn't who he is anymore, it never was and yet he can't just let it go, he can't walk away now. He'd opened the can and he couldn't put all that shit back in anymore. He makes as little eye contact with the demon as possible as he crouches down, rests and hand to the guy's forehead. He thinks about his father as he recites words said over and over again by family members far older than himself and Bishop. There's muffled screams behind the gag, writhing under his hand, but he doesn't stop. Contact is broken, he winds up standing up as the body seems to seize but he keeps reciting the spell. There's part of him that wonders if he's anything like his father in the moment as the demon's skin seems to blacken, on fire without the flames, being sent back from where it came.

[bishophart]

"When I changed, I'd basically been thrown from the top of a skyscraper." Bishop whistled like something falling through the air before punctuating it with a splat sound. "Pancake. So if you ever wanna fuck around, I'm down to axe you if you change your mind." He wasn't sure what that meant for their limitations, if there were any, but he did have some creative ideas that involved flame throwers, train tracks, explosives, and natural disasters. "Since the fall." Bishop had been ingrained in the life of a hunter from birth, "I never heard of anything like this before." Darkfriends. The Brotherhood. That Hand that had wrapped its grip around his soul, whatever it was it had started after the world was turned upside down.

Not even a residual headache could hint towards the violent act Bishop had inflicted upon the Archer, no scars nor tender bruises of an injury since miraculously healed. "I can't say I wanna find out our limits, but, actually, I kind of fuckin' do," in a way more purposeful than Bishop blasting him in the head, or them taking turns on concocting violent deaths to try out on one another. "Just not necessarily with you, sorry man," a small grin, "I think the whole deal might link to our capabilities in what they asked of us," oh, Wade, thinking he was so smart for figuring out the obvious. "How long have you been like this?" A vague inquiry as to see if Bishop had actually been out there brawling with a supe' with his newfound and seemingly indestructible life.

[bishophart]

Duct tape kept the incubus from making too much racket, another iron stake went through the demon's other shoulder as it was firmly planted against the ground. Bishop took a few steps back as he pulled the engraved knuckles off his hands and slid them back into his pocket. Indentations marked the demon's battered, brutalized form, but Bishop wouldn't be fully satisfied until the thing was dead.

"You're a witch, aren't you?" That was the whole schtick of the Hart boys; there was nothing they couldn't fix. "Any loser can bring a demon back to their place and make like they're going to suck their dick. "You're an exorcist, so exorcise." The incubus was pleading from behind their strapped mouth; tears streamed as they clearly begged for their life, but everything did that when confronted with certain doom. "This thing was going to kill you, don't be fucking weak." Bishop had a habit of pushing the buttons of everyone around him, and he liked it. He liked to twist the knife and see how far he'd go, and he wanted confirmation that Emory wasn't half the hunter his father was.

His fingers grip the edge of the kitchen counter when he hears it, an all too familiar sound. Gunshots were loud but there wasn't the sickening thunk to a bullet like there was with a bow. There's a whistle as the bolt leaves, and then a solid squelch as it lands. Something into flesh like that, the noise always has him wincing. It's why he'd only been bow hunting back home with his siblings a handful of times, something about it just felt more brutal somehow. At least a bullet was quick but he stood there in the kitchen and he listens to the scuffle, knuckles white and heart racing. "I thought I was just bait?" It takes him a second to answer, he has to take several slow breathes first. When he steps from the kitchen to the doorway to the living room, he tries not to quite look directly at the scene before him. He knows what it looks like, he knows this room, he's walked this floor.

[bishophart]

END

@kafzielx location: Hakan's Christmas Bash notes: all my starters are at Hakan's Christmas Bash

The party sucked. It blew fucking chunks and not just because it was crammed full with every freak that Bishop had ever met or read about. Shitty music, weird drinks, and now there was no signal in this weird haunted castle from the Addams family. He was about ready to just say fuck it and walk through the snow when he caught sight of a familiar head of blonde hair. Bishop wouldn't have thought twice about it until he realised he recognized her.

"Krystal?" She'd changed. "Hey - !" Bishop crushed the cigarette under his shoe as he walked over to the girl on the opposite end of the balcony, in his head he was already going through a checklist that he'd more or less put together. She didn't look dead, which ruled out vampire, but it was hard to tell without checking for a pulse. Even spirits could be convincing. Another fucking lycan maybe? "What happened to you?"

[bishophart]

Bishop pressed his lips into a tight line; he didn't know how to help the other, at least not now. Putting down the fuck that had bitten River was a good start; it wouldn't reverse what had happened to the former hunter, but it would sure as shit make Bishop feel better about this whole thing. If he were in River's position right now, the last fucking thing that Bishop would want was anyone's pity, so he didn't feed it, and he sure as shit didn't express any sort of sympathy. There was a short nod akin to understanding before he looked off toward the corner of the cage. It wasn't like there was anything to look at; it was just a distraction before he managed to look at River again. The truth was, this could have been him, could have been anyone he'd known; that was one of the many things that sucked so fucking much about this.

Didn't sound like Lupercal was all that organized, but they were getting there. "What about Lycaon, is he there?" Lycans, witches, and elves were fine but there was only one big fish that Bishop knew about who hung around with the dogs. "Any others like him?" Bishop, Cruz, Violet, and Wade were just a handful of humans, but here he was, thinking about what it'd be like to mount the alpha of all alpha's head over the mantle. It was an amusing thought; these kinds of patterns brought Bishop some measure of comfort. Thinking up ways to kill these fucks was the only way that he could ever get to sleep at night.

River didn't want any pity. He didn't want to be looked at like a broken thing, even if that is how he felt. Anger had never been common for the once hunter, despite every opportunity to allow it to come to the surface. How his father had pushed him, tried to shape him into the man that made precise steps. That did not fall victim to a bout of recklessness. Now, the singular emotion seemed to be all that River felt. As if it were always simmering just below the surface, an active volcano that seemed ready to erupt at the slightest shift. The hunter's question lingered in the air, within the lycan's thoughts as his hand curled at his side. Any sort of harsh word was bitten back, if only because the question had seemed genuine. As if Bishop truly wanted to know. "I --- yeah... no," though River hadn't the slightest idea. A part of him knew that he wasn't alright, that he had a beast inside of him now that wanted to claw its way out. But he also felt fine, stronger than he had ever been before, with the knowledge that eventually he would gain control over this. And then what would happen?

"Covenless," he quickly followed up, because a part of him didn't want their words to stray into the what if's of what would eventually happen. Did he want to die? Absolutely not. But would it be necessary? Was it not the right thing that a hunter should do? His lips rolled together as his thoughts spiraled, fingers curled so tightly against his palms. "There's less than a handful of them, but they seem powerful enough," he continued, if only to keep his mind busy.

[bishophart]

A brief flicker of concern crossed Bishop's features as he watched River reach up toward his chest; he had an idea of what was happening, but this perspective was still new. He couldn't know what River was going through, and now, in all likelihood, he never would. Bishop saw the pain, though, the violence of that creature living within the ex-hunter just begging to come clawing to the surface. It wasn't Bishop's place, and he didn't have any right to ask, but this part of him had grown at least a little concerned. The division in his mind between man and beast blurred, River was lost, but he wasn't the monster that the full moon forced him to turn into. He was sick. "You alright?"

Witches. Halfbloodeds. "Coven witches?" That would make them significantly more dangerous if they were. Bishop was still new to Rome and didn't know the current climate between the senate and the lycans. He imagined it wasn't good, all things considered, but there were apparently halfbloodeds working there. Witches. That made things a bit more complicated.

The grin had slipped onto his lips easy enough, a minor reflection of the hunter that he had once been. Carefree, reckless, most often simply looking to have a good time. With the occasional night of tracking down some supernatural, of putting an end to them before he found another source of fun. Maybe there was some slim hope that this new life wouldn't be much different than his last. But then the reminder of the moon settled in, as that beast within him grew antsy. As it begged to be released once more, to take all of its anger out on whoever happened to cross his path. The heel of his palm pressed against his chest, as if somehow that could keep it all at bay.

"Oh, right, right," he spoke the words with a nod of his head, as if he hadn't known that already. Wasn't there some theory that most guys lied about their height anyway? If they were roughly the same height, he wondered if Bishop gave himself a few inches. "Not everyone. They have some witches who work closely with them, some halfblooded that runs the clinic there. Then a couple others that I haven't been able to figure out yet." Though, the determination of them wouldn't be very difficult once he spent more time within the wall. Once he stopped playing it safe.

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"Fair." Cruz had a point; he wouldn't replace the beer or pay him back for it, but he would buy his own, and the other would likely steal from it. This was the circle of life, they were roommates, they were going to steal each other's beer and get murdered for it. "Nah, I'm making shells today." Bishop finished packing one before he brought it up to eye level, he'd need to do some tests later after his engravings were done, but this took time and patience. The second wasn't something that the darkfriend was known for, at least not outside of packing bullets. Wade, Violet, Cruz, there were four of them now. All these high-level supernatural and just four humans with a penchant for survival. "Do you have any contacts with intel on any aspects?" The Eye was burned; they were mostly on their own now with whatever info they or their informants had.

"No you're not. You're never good for it. At all." Maybe he shouldn't have been so angry about his beer being lost to him, but also Bishop was annoying. How else was he supposed to deal with his annoying roommate other than killing him now? He'd get back up. It was perfectly fine now. Well, he guessed he wouldn't want the same to be happening to him so maybe he shouldn't have made it a habit. Bishop always gave him that annoying ass grin every time though so it only helped to go against that thought every single time. He moved to lean against the wall, the knife being placed back at his side. "Plan on hunting today?"

[bishophart]

Nothing came out as Bishop opened his mouth to make some snappy comeback. Instead, he jammed his tongue into the corner of his mouth and shook his head. He'd sneak a peek before and then get a good look at that Christmas party, but the last thing that Bishop would do was comment on it now. Instead, he sat back and folded his hands behind his head. The two of them had fun together; maybe if things were different, things wouldn't be like this, but here they were.

"Yeah, well, I'm not taller than a lot of walls, asshat." Meanwhile, the two of them were actually the same height, but that meant Bishop had to stand up a little bit straighter when they were together. "Everyone in there a lycan or- what's the deal with that?" Bishop had expected Lupercal to be stacked; more and more dogs were flocking to it, but The Eye had done one thing right when they'd apparently blown up their facility. All those wolves in one place made things easier; Bishop and the Brotherhood didn't need to go in their guns blazing to get the point across.

"Can't get it out of your head, huh? Consider me flattered," because hearing 'your dick' had such a better ring to it than what Bishop had actually said. Besides, soon enough he'd be subjected to that anger he just couldn't shake. And the pain that would come with every part of him breaking down into something else, something worse. He'd take a momentary playful mood while he could, even if it were with the hunter across from him.

"Taller than your ass," of course, River would ignore the fact that Bishop was indeed taller than he, "likely about fifteen feet tall. Hard to tell, seems to change frequently. Clocked only a couple at one point, then about a dozen the next time. I'll keep an eye on it, see if there's any kind of pattern." Or if it was just boredom from having so many lycans cooped up in one place. Lupercal was decently sized, but how long until elbow room became scarce? Because he certainly hadn't been the only lone wolf to show up to the place. Which may be why the humor seemed to slip from his features upon the question, his own gaze meeting that of the hunter's, "More than you can take on."

[bishophart]

"You're such a dick," Bishop said, out of fresh material; next time, he'd bring a tennis ball with him and make the asshole go fetch. Or was it felch? Bishop got those two mixed up a lot. With the full moon a few hours away from reaching its crest, they had some time, which felt oddly personal given how unfriendly their dynamic was. River had a chip on his shoulder, and Bishop hadn't convinced himself yet that this wouldn't end with a bullet between the Lycan's eyes. Still, if he could pump the other for information while they were going through all this, he sure as fuck was going to.

"How big is their wall, and how many people do they have on it?" Bishop asked to start. There was a litany of things he wanted to know, but fortifications were an excellent place to start. The darkfriend had seen nonlycans coming and going, so at the very least, it didn't look like they were turning people away. Still, the whole thing would be like walking into a hornet's nest, and that was about the last thing that Bishop wanted to do, blind anyway. He leaned in a bit; Bishop's dark eyes remained fixed on River as he followed up; hot as the other was, they weren't here for foreplay. Right? "How many inside?"

"Think you might be losing your edge," because even the hunter could have come up with something a little better than that. But hey, everyone had off days sometimes. River wouldn't hold it against him. Then again, that wasn't entirely true, and he absolutely would bring up Bishop's lack of hitting the mark when it came to these same old dog jokes. For the time being, however, he filed it away as he stepped further into the place. There was still a good couple of hours before the moon made itself known, or rather, known to others. For River could already feel its dynamic pull, right down to the very pit of his soul. As if nothing else mattered beyond the silent call.

That voice in the back of his head continued to tell him that this wasn't right, that he shouldn't have come back. Only a few weeks had passed since the pair had last seen each other, but nothing more had been said about that encounter. Though, River would be hard pressed to be the first to bring it up. He'd been the one with his mouth full, after all. Not to mention that he still definitely blamed Bishop for whatever the hell had gone down all those months ago. "Well, go on. Ask what you want to know about the place." Because he wasn't going to pass the time in utter silence.