suremonty

[suremonty]

Now the sun’s gone to hell And the moon riding high Let me bid you farewell, Every man has to die. But it’s written in the starlight And every line in your palm We’re fools to make war On our brothers in arms.

[suremonty]

nearcataclysm​:

          once the phone is handed back to him, the immediate answer is… no. he doesn’t know who he’s supposed to be focusing on, and thus his mind extends to everyone within the picture. smoke and ash and bombs and wreckage and— an eye opens up on the side of his throat, pounding and rolling in line with his rising heartrate. he squeezes it shut, but it doesn’t stay that way. it wants to see, even if the rest of him doesn’t. “i don’t—” he sucks in a sharp breath, trying to level himself out. trying to get away from the sheer magnitude of death filling his mind. “can you… point out… who i’m supposed to… be looking at?”

.

although monty could have simply pointed to leo in the still, he held a finger up. taking the mobile phone back ( he’d never projected onto the screen of a cellular telephone before, it had always been television -- maybe he had to be touching the screen to project correctly ! ), he shut his eyes and ran through the night. it hadn’t been a fun one, but at least it wasn’t traumatizing ! that was more than he could say for most of the images he supposed he could project onto omen’s cellular phone ! he stopped, forced the visuals in his mind’s eye to stay on the moment where it was just himself and leo. and, with it presenting from his perspective, just leo from what omen would see. he handed it back over with a nod. “ her. ”

[suremonty]

nearcataclysm​:

         “you can describe here, if that—” david cuts off, ignoring monty’s very strange description of a phone to fish through his pockets. he does have a cell phone, albeit he very rarely uses it—carina insisted!—and there are plenty of times where he forgets it in places where he shouldn’t. difficult to be responsible for something when, generally speaking, it’s completely useless to him… but, luckily for monty, he does find it tucked into his back pocket. “yes, i have one.” it’s not locked with any special code, so he just hands it over without applying a fingerprint or facial recognition or whatever other fancy-schmancy things people use to keep their information safe. david doesn’t care about that, though.

         he isn’t sure that monty will find anything useable on it—maybe this person he’s trying to locate has a facebook. or an AIM account. or some sort of memorial website—but since pictures are easier to use than a simple description, he’ll let him try.

.

monty hadn’t tried to use any of the cellular phones with the google and the electronic mail -- it had taken a lot of convincing to just get a flip phone ! -- all for the convenience of ‘texting’ ( he still didn’t really get how to respond, but he was able to read texts from annie and tiff and his boss which was... helpful ). nonetheless, these cellular phones with the googles seemed like they might just work. the question was: would he ? it had been at least five years since he’d used it last ( 51 to the average citizen ), but, with no visual aid and no last name that he could remember... this seemed like it would be his best bet ! so he placed all his focus on july 14, 1942 -- the first night he spent in wwii, but not yet in the trenches. the uniform, the boots, the pen and paper... and it projected onto the screen. from his point of view, she was clear as day. so he handed the phone back to omen.  “ does this help ? ”

[suremonty]

erinsoconnell​:

closed starter // @suremonty​

“Hey, I like your hair and jacket,” Erin says, leaning over the railing of her front porch. The stranger is walking towards her, and she assumes that he’s either lost in this labyrinth of a neighbourhood and needs directions, or he’s a Jehovah’s witness. If it’s the latter, she has her polite ‘no thank you’ script rehearsed and ready at the forefront of her mind. As he gets closer, her mutation starts to, for lack of a better term, act up. Old pop bottles, jukeboxes, war planes, smoke, debris… A wall, trapped. Her eyes start to water. She can usually control her clairvoyance, but this mutant is breaking her mental barrier. Erin has never experienced such sharp visions. Her mutation is more of a useful tool, used to keep track of people and find lost objects. She’s only seen flickers of someone’s past a couple of times in the emergency room, when she met dimension hoppers in spandex costumes and masks (Gwen and Miles tease). “Do you need something?”

retro. old-fashioned. vintage. monty had heart a lot of things about his style ! and he knew what all the words meant, but that didn’t mean he really understood what the folks were saying about him -- which was completely par for the course. heck, if he did, he still wouldn’t change a lick ! why waste precious time ( very precious time ! ) worrying about what some scamp thought about his hat ? or what some dame thought about his suspenders ? he thought he looked all fine and dandy !  -- that said, you know, he couldn’t say it wasn’t nice to get a compliment on it ! he turned to the source his talkie was pointing him to and offered a wave, taking the little device out with his free hand and pressing down on the transmission button. “ gee, thanks. my neighbors tell me i look like i’m always getting back from church. ” they saw him dressed like in his clothes and still said he was all cockeyed !?  “ actually, yeah. ” ...he could not say that his toxic wife had not been toying with him a great deal lately, the jealous broad ! “ what part of the city is this ? ”

[suremonty]

sabbioneta​:

The enthusiastic underlining of ‘go outside’ is pretty conclusive, so Leo nods. Folding the paper and tucking it with the pen into her pocketbook, she glances for her friends and waves at them as if nothing unusual is happening as she takes Monty’s hand and guides him through the brightly lit, cheerful corridors until they are outside, where the odd car trundles past but the music of the band is reduced to a dull, barely audible thud from several floors away.

Looking expectantly up at him, she holds thumb and forefinger together in a loop with a questioning look: the universal symbol of ‘okay?’, and she pulls out the pen and paper once more. This is not how she saw her night going; it certainly is interesting, though! Leo is ever so curious about this man ‘knowing’ her.

.

just minutes ago, the announcement that monty had been hoping against hope for had been made ! the cold war was over -- if nothing else, the attacks wouldn’t be for another couple decades. it had filled him with such joy, such peace, as though he had accomplished something himself... and now, only minutes later, it had all been replaced by dread and panic that found him clinging to a little woman he knew he’d see again under very unfortunate circumstances ( he didn’t know if she would see him, though ).  squeezing onto her hand like a kid squeezing their teddy, he kept his eyes trained on his feet -- m-42 service shoes ! -- as she led him through the corridors. too long, too winding, too bright. his feet, although another reminder of his new reality, was all he could look at without feeling his heart pound and flutter.  the breeze as they stepped out into the night air, warm as it may have been ( it may have been the north, but it was also the dead of summer ), whisked across his face with the gentleness and the peace that he had been desperate for. finally looking back to leo, he nodded his head slowly, apprehensively copying the ‘a-okay.’  after another second to catch his breath, he hesitantly reached for the pen and paper. “ are we celebrating something ? ” as he recalled, there had yet to be any major victories in the usa... torch wouldn’t be for another few months, and the end of atlantic wouldn’t be for another three years. certainly they weren’t having fun just to have fun ! ridiculous that he’d get pulled to a party !

[suremonty]

nearcataclysm​:

         that’s okay. david has heard something similar before, but usually with more disappointment behind the phrase. given his lack of connection throughout life ( bonds are a torment, not a necessity! ) he’s never been the best at picking up on social cues… but even without a proper tone of voice, he can judge by monty’s expression that he’s not put out by what he can offer. all for the better—there’s nothing he can do about disappointment. the information he has is all he has. if it’s not good enough for someone, that’s always been their problem. given this, he doesn’t feel the kneejerk urge that he usually does to offer another apology. sorry i can’t say more. sorry i don’t have more.

         “a woman?” he asks, letting his primary eyes fall shut. easier to think this way. names are, of course, the absolute least helpful thing someone can give him—unless it’s said or thought during someone’s death, it’s rare that he gets enough of a picture to recognize from that. not to mention that all names have been used a thousand times before. “do you have anything else that i can use? something… appearance based?”

.

monty was the farthest thing from ‘up to date’ when it came to technology ( ironic, considering he could communicate through it ) -- that’s what being in 1943 one second and 2021 the next would do to you ! the only things that stayed truly consistent were television and radio ( though, unbeknownst to him, even cable and... well, radio, were starting to go the way of the dodo ) -- but that wasn’t much of a way to show omen who he was trying to describe. and, having been yanked to pearl harbor, and then vietnam, and then another apocalyptic countdown ( that, as the countdown to y2k, actually wound up being completely fine -- not that he really knew ), he didn’t have much time to take a moment to make out a rough sketch of her ! fast-paced and unpredictable, he’d never thought to.  however, the tragedy was: if he did know about modern tech, he could find one of the many paintings of her ( that wasn’t to say he’d know, without a shadow of a doubt, that they were her, but... geez, there sure was a likeness ! ) with a quick search using his googles ! alas... “ no, i don’t have anything. ” putting his free hand to his chin, he tilted his head to the side in consideration. “ do you have anything with a screen ? one of those cellular phones with the google and the electronic mail ? ”

[suremonty]

who: @cameronxwhite​ what: family reunion ft. toxic wife, time where: some diner!

everything moved so fast and everything moved so slow. one moment, he was getting dressed in his sunday best to meet up with his niece ( ‘great’ didn’t matter much ! ). the next moment, he was in galveston, texas, on september 8th, 1900. there had been no gun in his hands. he adorned no uniform. maybe it was a mistake. but the skies were cloudy, and a storm was surely approaching... longer, harder, gustier. drowning in rain water, buildings getting ripped apart. and a fifteen-foot tidal wave... that was a millisecond away from crashing down on him when she took him by the hand, yanked him back to 202..2?3?1? it had been a mere two hours. and he was returned outside the doors of the diner, still sopping wet. he knew what she was trying to do. she was trying to frazzle him, get him too jittery to walk inside ! but monty was no schnook ! it had gotten to the point that he could shake off and compartmentalize anything she dragged him into ( well, maybe not war, but natural disasters ? fires ? ) and deal with the mental fallout of it later. heck, especially now ! she wanted him to herself, she’d have to try a little harder ! he shook off, pretty akin to a wet dog, and rung out the water from his cap. holding it in one hand, he was more nervous about making a good impression than he was the tidal wave ! deep breath, monty boy ! he stepped inside, glanced at the clock on the wall ( late by 10 minutes !? ), and surveyed the crowd. it was going to crash on them. -- nope ! she wouldn’t win ! he was gonna see his niece and he was gonna be perfectly normal about it ! and he was real perfectly normal when his eyes finally landed on her, prompting a wave with his paperboy cap.  taking the walkie-talkie ( a little drenched itself, but still in working condition ! ) from his shirt pocket, he said, “ sheesh, sorry i’m late. i got caught in the sticks. ” to say the least -- considering it was perfectly dry outside ! “ how are you doing ? ”

[suremonty]

thalassofins​:

         canned sardines. fins has, of course, seen a can before. they end up coming into the sewers more often than any other kind of trash! and the dumpsters, for that matter! but he’s never had to open one himself, and certainly never eaten out of one. and he doesn’t know exactly what a sardine is, either. “no,” he admits, shaking his head. “is that a kind of fish?” he has to assume so, but assumptions have never gotten him very far in life before… and monty has been so kind about his questions so far! and about the idea of getting them food, which is the easiest way to fins’ heart! not that it’s guarded. a few seconds of friendliness is all it really takes. “i don’t know what a meatball sub is, either. is it good?” he asks more for monty’s sake than his own. he has yet to meet anything, edible or otherwise, that doesn’t agree with him. but for all the gracious answers that he’s been given… he still doesn’t quite understand the concept of texas. or states. or anything like that. “oh,” he says instead, although he clearly is still lost regarding it all. “what’s a gun?”

.

“ yeah, they’re very... convenient. ” they were great for rationing ! he hadn’t been a big fan of them, but... what else was he going to talk about when fish came up !? nothing came to mind quicker than canned sardines ! “ you might like them, though. they’re really salty and... really quick. ” it was pretty hard to talk canned sardines up, but maybe fins would like them ! someone had to ! and, if fins hadn’t tasted a fish he didn’t like yet, maybe he’d be in that small percentage of people who... well, genuinely liked them ! “ meatball subs are really good. the sauce makes the sub a real neat texture, but it still tastes good... which isn’t really normal when things change texture. ” but the meatball sub was the sub of the future ! ( not really, they’d been around for a few decades by the time monty was born, but they were still very impressive ! ) sure... he still preferred peanuts, but fins probably got lots of food like that ! if he could give him something that he probably didn’t get much, then, by golly, he was gonna give it to him ! but, of all the questions fins had asked, what guns were was probably the answer monty simultaneously knew the best and the worst. all the wars he’d been thrust into ? he’d never learned how to properly work a gun. he’d never shot at an enemy. he’d never wanted to be... there, wherever she would toss him, but he’d still... learned more than he wanted to. metal against the back of his head to be taken as a POW, a bullet grazing the side of his arm in the normandy landing -- having to just rely on her to take care of him ( he surely would’ve died out there ). but, at the end of the day, the answer was simple: “ they’re used to kill people. ”

[suremonty]

sabbioneta​:

Oh, this poor, poor man! Leo’s heart really aches for him. Quite out of breath, and not sure even of the date. The war must have done quite a number on him. She’s not quite sure what to make of him knowing her, but it doesn’t surprise Leo as much as it might. Her face has appeared in enough artworks by enough master painters that many are left with a confusing sense of familiarity; she is Leonarda, but she is also the Magdalen; the Mary; the penitent, the sinner, the saint, whatever is needed of her.

“14th July, 1941. We are at the Roseland Ballroom, in New York City. Would you like to go outside? It is terribly crowded in here!” Leo writes; she offers the information on their location in case it helps; if he is confused about the date, what else might he be confused about? And perhaps he will feel calmer if they step outside. Even if he is deaf, there are so many people in here, so much movement, and Leo can quite imagine the dim light being frightening rather than romantic if you are already under great stress.

july 14th, 1942. although monty had been close to the war, he only ever knew as much as the news said or as his brother sent back. but he would’ve remembered if something had happened on july 14th in america... right ? nonetheless, he was in a uniform without his walkie-talkie or his picture of ed or the nutrient microchip... he’d been yanked around a good deal, and he’d sure been put in peril, but he’d never felt so lost. and that was including the wasteland ! -- because he knew how this story ended. and he knew it didn’t have a good ending for a fella like him. he nodded his head at the offer, growing more fervent by the second. there was so much noise. there was so much light. there was so much misplaced joy. it was an absolute cacophony -- and no one even knew it ! they were probably laughing and chatting gayly, but they shouldn’t have been. they weren’t about to win the war. not even close ! three years left ! ...and if he was stuck there the whole time... ? heck, he wouldn’t last it ! but time wouldn’t let him die. he’d be two seconds away from getting shot and she’d just put him somewhere else on the field, take him a second into the future !  taking the pen, he underscored ‘go outside’ three times. maybe he could think if he weren’t surrounded by all of that... maybe he could talk to her... maybe he could figure things out... maybe...

[suremonty]

nearcataclysm​:

         “i don’t really know if they were wars,” he admits, shaking his head. “i only know that it was nuclear. what happened.” it could have been one war with several aftershocks afterwards, once the long-standing protections around any further sites began ( err, will begin? ) to erode. it could have been that someone—or someone’s—destroyed by the initial blasts had found a way to recreate those terrible weapons for themselves and set them upon the world to finish what human conflict couldn’t wholly erase. the end result was the same. so many things died. ecosystems collapsed. if it wasn’t starvation or exposure from the rapid shift of the climate, it was radiation. it was radiation-induced defects. all the same.

         the burden of knowing so much and yet so little is a frustrating one to carry. it’s easier when the people that usually have questions have more… clues… to offer perspective. if someone is murdered, he can see that and come to the right conclusions. if someone rots in the freezing cold centuries after his own death has passed, surrounded by the last vestiges of recognizable wildlife before it all starts over again, well… that’s a little more straining on his vision. the mind isn’t meant to contain such multitudes. “i can’t tell you much about rebuilding or survivors, either. i just don’t see that big of a picture.”

.

the closest monty had ever come to getting answers to his questions was this man in front of him. and he’d gotten a lot more than he thought he’d ever get out of one person alone ! heck, more than he thought he’d get out of a person in general !  he knew the year it happened. he knew roughly the area of the blasts. he knew what happened to ed. but this was all he had to hold on to. when he could be yanked away at any second, taken somewhere new and terrifying, all he’d always have was the end of the world. and his mission to stop it.  “ that’s okay. ” that was alright ! for now, that was okay ! he had another question, of course, but he thought... maybe it wasn’t as grand scope. maybe it wouldn’t be as stressful. maybe it would be a little bit of reprieve ? “ if you can see it and tell... there was this woman. i saw her when i was in the east, then i saw her again a few years ago... or, i guess, a few decades ago. ” to him, it had only been four years. to the rest of the world, it had been 82. “ her name was leo. she was alive during the second world war and survived the 2287 attacks. through... death ? -- geez, through death, do you know anything about her ? ”

[suremonty]

thalassofins​:

         “my favorite…” he trails off, considering the question. fins hasn’t had much experience with the food the surface world has, but of what he’s eaten, the choice is obvious. obvious to anyone that isn’t him, anyway. “fish, i think. i don’t really mind what kind it is.” completely missing that monty is just offering an alternative sign, he continues; “oh, is that okay? i do like getting food.” and he is hungry, as per usual. “but… you would have to get it.” as long as they’re not digging through the garbage, which fins would never suggest to someone so nice! not everyone’s stomach is nearly as tolerable as his own. “people don’t like it much if i’m the one to try.” even with a fist full of bills he can’t read, always much more than is necessary, there’s just something about him people find a little ( a lot ) frightening! but that sad, little thought is easily ignored as monty displays his favorite word. “tex..ass? i don’t know that word. what does it mean?”

.

not that monty wanted to make any assumptions about the guy, but maybe he should’ve guessed that his favorite food would be fish ! “ have you ever had canned sardines ? ” definitely not monty’s favorite food, but definitely the fish he’d had the most recent experience with ! “ i can get us some food, sure thing. have you had... ” what were some fun foods that people didn’t usually throw away ? because pizza was probably pretty darn common ! and he didn’t wanna just go get some peanuts ! “ ... a meatball sub ? ” monty would never be able to understand what it was like to be such a visible mutant. he supposed he was lucky that he still looked human. but, to some degree, he understood it -- as well as a guy who looked human could, at least ! no one took him seriously, people thought he was completely bonkers, and most everyone he’d met would prefer talking to the wall.  “ it’s a state down south. it’s the biggest one that isn’t alaska, and they’ve got a real big reputation for their guns. ”

[suremonty]

nearcataclysm​:

         uncomfortably, monty is almost too earnest with his questions. it’s one thing to know that these things have ( or… will? ) happened. it’s another to see the direct result of that loss, standing so hopefully in front of him. unfortunately, david just doesn’t have all of the answers. “i’m sorry,” he starts, shaking his head; “i only see it happen. i don’t get any of the internal experience.” what someone ( or something ) is thinking, or feeling, or doing… he can only see the direct event. nothing before. nothing after. nothing that would explain why they might have tumbled into their untimely deaths, beyond obvious visual details. “i don’t know when he dies. not that specifically.” everything had been cold, but… the entire world seemed cold in the land of the dead.

.

monty nodded his head. while a bit disappointing, and certainly dissatisfying ( a mystery he’d never get an answer to ), it wasn’t omen’s fault. and monty, logically, knew better than to expect an answer to that specific question. after all, even if it weren’t already iced out everywhere, it was a canadian winter... still, his heart always took over his mind. and he would never know if he was the indirect cause of ed’s death. ( was he doomed either way ? probably... would it actually have been better if he went out after monty, died sooner rather than later after a couple years with company ? ...maybe... ) but he had to shake that thought from it, see how much more he could get from omen before he started to overwhelm him. “ last time, you said that it was one of the nuclear wars, but i only ever saw three other survivors. were the others before and less extreme ? or were there more survivors than i knew and they got to rebuild ? ”

[suremonty]

thalassofins​:

         this is about as good as it gets. how anyone could possibly have kept themselves calm upon making a new friend is entirely beyond him, but the important thing is that he has made that new friend! one that’s willing to bear with him through the ups and downs and loop-de-loops of human conversation, no less. that in and of itself is a marvel that fins couldn’t possibly have been more grateful for. and to think, every question he asks isn’t met with at best well-meaning confusion or worse, scorn and bewilderment! “that’s my favorite word,” he admits, giving the sign a try himself. food. food. food. food. “do you have a favorite word?”

.

“ what’s your favorite food, fins ? ” he hoped fins’s answer would be more fun than his ! sure, it was his favorite food for a reason... but it wasn’t the most entertaining. -- shoot ! he should’ve added -- “ do you want to get food ? ” came across the transmission, monty signing along with it. it was probably a more helpful way to use the word ‘food’ than just saying the food is delicious ! fins needed to have some questions in his arsenal ! and should that question be taken as a question, monty had nowhere to be. “ my favorite word to sign is... ” pointing finger guns to the sky, he ‘shot’ them a few times and said, “ ‘texas.’ ” ( little did he know that the sign for texas had changed recently... ) “ but it doesn’t come up real often here. ”

[suremonty]

nearcataclysm​:

         nodding, david takes the picture from him. the name isn’t terribly important to him, but he can respect someone willing to give all the information they have. in some cases, it can even make his job easier. not here, though. not with someone so far off from even being born. eyes emitting a soft glow, he lets the song spiral through his mind…

         “exposure.” that’s the easiest way to put it, anyway.

.

exposure. from his experience -- being seconds away to dying from exposure before getting yanked away -- it had been a horrible way to go. but would starvation have been any better ? he didn’t have a frame of reference -- and he hoped he never would. “ i know you probably can’t read minds in the future -- ” -- probably not in the present either, but who was he to say !? -- “ but i went out in... november. do you think he was trying to find me ? or was it months later ? -- golly, i don’t even know if you can tell the dates ! heck, it might not have even been november -- we were tallying the days. ” there was only so much room on a calendar when the experience lasted for over a year ! “ so if you can’t tell or anything, i get it. ”

[suremonty]

thalassofins​:

         the praise that monty offers only makes him more excited to learn. it’s not often that he feels good at anything, least of all communicating, but this has been a revolutionary experience so far. to think that it’s not a skill everyone learns ( topside or otherwise ) is the most perplexing part of it all—surely everyone would benefit from it? there are plenty of times that talking aloud isn’t appropriate. underwater, for certain. loud places, otherwise. but thoughts on societal ignorance are quickly swept aside as monty confirms their friendship. fins can’t help but sign back friend a few more times, clearly excited by the concept. thank you comes next, of course. “how do you say food?”

.

it felt good. not just to have someone actually listening to him, actually tuning in to what he had to say, actually taking an interest in him, but teaching. maybe that’s what he would’ve done in a different world ! heck, maybe if he’d been born in... whatever year would make him 32 in... 2021? -- maybe he’d be a teacher. it was rewarding ! but there weren’t really any male teachers in ‘pink collar’ jobs back in his time, and there sure wasn’t any sign language to be taught !  'you’re welcome!’ gee, the fellow would never know how welcome he was ! he signed ‘food’ five times to answer the guy’s question, then followed with an example of a sentence fins may choose to use: ‘this food is delicious.’

[suremonty]

sabbioneta​:

Curiously, Leo watches as he pats himslf down. Looking for a notebook, perhaps, but as the search provides fruitless his breathing hitches faster. The poor fellow! But it’s just a notebook, after all, and she won’t have him fretting over it. With a gentle hand on his arm, she gives him as soothing a look as she can, holding up a finger as if to say just a moment. She’ll sort this.

Flitting back to her friends, she pawns off all their questions until one of them finds a pen and notebook in her pocketbook. Promising to tell them more later, she returns to Monty triumphantly. Showing him, she scrawls in her antique swooping script: Hello. Mine name is Leonarda. Is this easier? She turns the notebook so that he can see, angling it up to cater to his absurd height.

as she walked away, monty put his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath as he hunched over. it opened up your airway more -- he remembered ed telling him that the first time he swallowed that half of a nutrition microchip, then again during one of the many panic attacks he’d had underground. it felt like his heart was pounding hard enough to break his ribs, felt like it was in his throat and chest and stomach all at once. he didn’t belong here. he knew how it ended. when she returned, he stood back up to properly look at her ( though she may have been easier to look at while hunched over ! ). if he weren’t so terrified, he may have taken a moment to admire her handwriting ( his was famously chicken scratch on a good day ), but now wasn’t the time. instead, he nodded his head and reached for the pen. My name is Monty. I know you. What date is it?

[suremonty]

thalassofins​:

         how. are. you. fins signs it back several times, hoping he can commit all of this to memory. or… if not ( and that is slightly more likely ) that he can find monty and practice with him again. while he always cautions himself against assumptions ( positive ones, especially ) it seems like the time traveler is perfectly happy to offer his knowledge. he wants to think that such an attitude would persist. he also wants to think he’s an acceptable student…

         slowly, after watching monty with a careful eye, fins tries to sign out a statement of his own. you. me. friend?

.

monty nodded with a smile and the smallest of claps. fins had a gift for this ! he was picking it up fast and actually seemed interested ! ( see, most people weren’t very interested in what monty had to say... because most of what he had to say was insane. ) “ you’re doing swell ! ” he replied, signing as he spoke -- though, this time, perhaps a bit faster ( not on purpose -- definitely not on purpose ! -- but this was a very exciting moment for monty ! ) and fins formed his very own sentence ! and what a sweet sentence it was ! gee whiz, goodness knows monty could use a couple more friends ! connecting with people ? forming real, lasting bonds ? it was pretty scary when you could be yanked away at any moment ! but, golly, this was special. “ you and me, friend ! ” he confirmed, so to speak, matching fins’s sign aloud.