#event 001: the hall of hidden knives

[prcmethevs]

CLOSED STARTER || icarus volati ( @icarusfclling​ ) LOCATION: somewhere in xenios TIMESTAMP: heteraidia festival – seventh day ; early morning

Months had passed Prometheus were uprooted to Olympe. Yet they had never felt stranger for living in the fever dream they had found themselves thrusted into. They were surrounded by bright neon lights shining bright and high in the night sky, changing weather that always remain too perfect, frivolous trends that change faster than the season, and webs of favors that bind everyone to the ruler of the land. Others continue to proclaim Olympe as heaven of the mortal realm, but Prometheus found themself restless sometimes and seek for a semblance of familiarity. The closest thing they had found was a phantom from simpler days, a past long gone and out of reach.

It was a wonder, how they managed to slink away from one another for such a long time. Though it was perhaps for the best. He’s a liability to your cause, Prometheus told himself the moment they suspected he was now drunk with greed and power. Though perhaps the bigger reason to their hesitation to reach out was the truth that would caused the ghost to fade away into the night, leaving them alone to brace this strange world.

But the need for an answer had grown far too great, and unwittingly, so did their yearning for something old they could maybe hold on to. And so when they had spot him in the halls of Xenios that early morning, after carefully threading the tightrope for the past months, Prometheus dove in. “Has sleep eluded you as well, Legatus?” they asked, careful to maintain the distance separating them.

[prcmethevs]

Prometheus glanced at the woman next to them. They tried to remember if they might have recognized her from somewhere – perhaps an up-and-coming politician, one of nemean many partners, or a socialite that frequent these events – yet their mind failed to match a name to her face. No matter, they thought to themself. After all, expanding their network was the main point of this whole event. 

“Other than the new, glorious year?” Prometheus tilted their head slightly and hummed. “Well, how about to new opportunities and a little bit more good luck.” Prometheus turned their head to face her finally, the corner of their lips tugging upwards as they raise their drink. “Anything else to add?”

where: nemean hall when: during a cocktail party who: megara and open!

The glittering opulence of this place was nauseating, how many different ways could one man possibly need to fucking show off? Megara took a sip of her drink, hiding an eye roll behind the rim of her glass. She missed the muted elegance and hedonistic excess of her home - at least there they called it what it was. But, she could judge decadence at a later time, the politician beside her was finally being fucking interesting. That was until his whispered confession to try and impress her was something she’d heard a month ago. Disappointing.

Everyone wanted to think that they were so fucking interesting, so special and unique. That their stories and opinions made them different from everyone else, made them matter more, made them worthy of attention. Megara knew better. She collected all of their secrets, picked apart stories and opinions for what actually mattered, and laid them out before her king. No one was so special, so interesting, so powerful, that they couldn’t be brought down by the right information. Herself and Hades included.

Which was why she guarded her secrets so closely, playing whatever part was needed to achieve her goal. Tonight that meant dazzling like everyone else in this room, and it meant listening to arrogant, drunk old men. She excused herself from this conversation as quickly as she could, the politician having failed to serve any purpose other than trying her patience, and made her way to the bar. Slipping into an open space, she smiled sweetly at her neighbor.

“What are we drinking to?”

[prcmethevs]

CLOSED STARTER || artemis rhea ( @ohartemis ​ ) LOCATION: symposia sky house TIMESTAMP: heteraidia festival – fifth day ; nighttime

Personally speaking, Prometheus had found going to Symposia’s for the sake of networking to be dubious. After all, underneath the friendly guise was still an effort strengthen your grip of power and advance you forward. For Prometheus, it was work all the same, and they were never really the biggest fan of mixing fun with work.

( Not that Symposia was their ideal definition of fun in any capacity. Prometheus didn’t normally find music on ear shattering level, and neither was getting into the hot tub with people who were so drunk that even Prometheus could feel the hangover that was waiting when the sun rise. But, well, that was an entirely different story. )

Artemis, however, disagreed, and she proceeded to spend a good amount of time trying to convince them to go until Prometheus finally relented. That was a decision that they started to regret as they watch the yet another round of drinks arriving at the table they were currently occupying, when Prometheus themself was still tending their previous one. “I think we have enough for the night, don’t you think?” Prometheus asked as they try to grab the drink before Artemis could reach for it. “At this rate you’re going to wake up with a killer migraine.”

[prcmethevs]

CLOSED STARTER || athena rhea ( @athenarhea​ ) LOCATION: the nemean hall TIMESTAMP: heteraidia festival – second day ; evening

Seeing Nemean Hall bustling with activity wasn’t anything new. But even Prometheus had to admit that it felt a little unusual to see such so many people gathering in this one area. Everyone who was important had arrived in droves yesterday, and despite receiving an invitation to celebrate the festivities, they were all still seeking for partnership opportunities. And now that they were officially employed by Zeus Rhea, Prometheus had a duty to manage these propositions. 

And so they went around the room, equipped with an enticing promises and a rigid set of guidelines for any prospective allies that came their way. It was only after hours of this that their eyes met Athena’s. “Fates, it’s nice to finally see a familiar face,” Prometheus said as they approached her, flashing a smile that was warmer than the ones they had given the rest of the guests. “Mind if I join you for a bit?”

[prcmethevs]

CLOSED STARTER || ares rhea ( @mcyme​ ) LOCATION: the calydon dome TIMESTAMP: the heteraidia – the first day ; close to sundown

Mingling with the powerful was a dance on its own, one that involved the perfect balance of small talks, pleasantries, and business talks, maintaining a charming smile through even the dullest of conversations, a seamless transition into farewells once the interaction was serving no more purpose. Prometheus had spent years training themself to listen to the rhythm of this dance, fine tuning their ears over the years that by now, it became one that they could do as well as breathing. That is, unless interruption began to throw the rhythm completely of beat, such as the way notifications were relentlessly blowing up their phone.

When they felt the first buzz of tala notification midway through a conversation, Prometheus had excused themself, brows furrowed in concern that Zeus was summoning them to take care of on business or another. As it turned out, Ares had been the one messaging them, asking where they were. Prometheus sent him a quick response and thought nothing much of it. But when they continued to receive four more similarly nosy messages within the next hour, Prometheus decided to simply ignore the messages. He’ll tire himself out, they thought. Except that hadn’t been the case as their phone continued to buzz in the pocket of their suit. Their annoyance was slowly building up with every vibration. 

So when they finally spot the culprit of chaos midway conversation with a an old acquaintance, Prometheus quickly wished them luck on their hunt and excused themself to approach the Rhea. “You really miss me that badly, huh?” They asked without really much of a greeting other than a nod of their head and the tiniest quirk of an eyebrow. “I would have swing by sooner and keep you company had you asked instead of grilling me about my whereabouts every 5 minutes.”

[prcmethevs]

dionysusrhea​:

Daddy always says, there isn’t a problem Theus can’t solve. Not a direct quote, but the sentiment rings true as far as they are concerned. She’s seen the mountains they have moved, to put both Nemean News and the Rhea family on the right side of the law. Not an easy feat, and certainly not with the likes of herself or Artemis or Hermes breaking the rules every two seconds. It’s only natural, then, that Dion calls upon them. Who else would know the risk she’s taken, and the best way out? Lest she return to her father, with a murmured apology about a sunk investment, she’s otherwise royally screwed. Fortunately, Theus seems amenable enough. Sure, there’s that ever-classic bewilderment on their face. That exhaustion that can only come from handling the Rhea children’s affairs for too long. But really, it’s par for the course. It’s a lack of a larger reaction, that soothes her worries.

“Not exactly - my market research shows that warning labels are itchy. And a nuisance. People rip them off, anyways.” Tilting her head, she adds; “Besides, they get sticky when attached to the candy.” One of the more candid pieces of feedback delivered to Dion. But it’s neither here nor there. At their follow-up question, she smirks wickedly. A loss of her seemingly dour position. Who knew mock legal counsel could be this fun? “Well,” she reaches into the nearby box, with the Bacchanal logo affixed to the top, and gingerly retrieves a licorice-made thong. “We adjusted the ingredient list so it keeps its shape and flexibility. We also swapped the candy for organic alternatives, so it has a far shorter shelf life.” Dion explains, patient and in-tune as she slides the thong across the table. “Here, have a sample. Honestly? It’s entirely safe. But Art put the worry in my head, and I’d rather avoid a scandal about how Dionysus Rhea is synonymous with chafing in the nether regions.”

♢♢♢

Prometheus tried their best to follow Dion’s explanation as she went on about her market research and ingredients breakdown. Still the creasing on their brows never quite ceased away.  not even when Dion reached for a pair of thong out of a box and handed it over for them to inspect for themself. Granted it was Dionysus Rhea that they were dealing with. Defying the conventional and embracing eccentricity – for better and for worse – had always been her strongest forte. Still, even when taking kinks into consideration, an edible thong sounded too impractical to deal with and Prometheus couldn’t help but wonder what had gone through her head when she decided this was a smart business venture. 

Still, they picked up the thong off the table and carefully examined it. Just as Dion said, the material was flexible and, to their surprise, it wasn’t as sticky as they initially imagined. Not that it waved off much to their skepticism, or the issues they might stumble upon in the future. "If your research had shown the labels get sticky to the candy, wouldn’t it be likely to run into the same issue with the wearers’ skin and pubic hair?” Prometheus managed to keep the grimace off their face at the thought when they looked up at Dion. "In any case, it’s still best to get professional assessment, especially to ensure it won’t cause unexpected side effects in the long run. So if you are absolutely certain about pursuing this one, I think you should postpone the launch for a little longer. In the mean time, I can prepare the necessary paperwork and submit it for review.” And pray to the Fates that everything goes smoothly. “As for the labels, I suppose you can forgo them and opt for a clear and visible warning on the packaging,” they suggested with a smile as they offered the thong back to Dion. “That way you still give the buyers a disclaimer of what they’re purchasing just so they know the risk.”

[prcmethevs]

CLOSED STARTER || ariadne asterion ( @redseek​ ) LOCATION: a cafe nearby the agora TIMESTAMP: heteraidia festival – third day ; late morning

Something about Ariadne Asterion had sparked a curiosity. They had only met the Pontius dweller for the first time last night at the Nemean Hall last night, when both had been stuck in a conversation chockfull of small talks with other politicians and businessmen. Yet, despite the brief time they rubbed shoulders, they noticed little things that scratched a small part of their brain, and when Prometheus couldn’t quite lay their finger on why, they extended an offer to meet that morning. 

A little brunch, Prometheus had called it, to talk more about the future of Pontius and Olympe. A truth, in technicality, because they still walked into this meeting with the same intention as any other meetings – to extract intel and store them away, an ammunition. But over that layer was the goal to satiate the itch that amused them. And so they fixed a disarming smile when they spot Ariadne walk in through the door, waving him over to their seat at a more secluded corner of the cafe. “I’m glad you can make it,” they greeted with a small nod. “Have a seat, I can give you some recommendation on what to get too, if you’d like.”

[prcmethevs]

CLOSED STARTER || zagreus rhea ( @zagreusrhea​ ) LOCATION: nemean hall TIMESTAMP: heteraidia festival – first day ; evening

Zagreus Rhea had always been a name Prometheus found intriguing, and they would wholeheartedly admit that most (if not all) the source of it had been the fact that he was the sole heir of Hades. They remembered scrolling through their Tala profile long ago – a very brief recon attempt they had done on the dwellers of Tartarus – and thought they must have had looked up the wrong Zagreus, because how was it possible for a father and a son to be so different?

Yet they watch him from afar on the first day of the festivity, Prometheus had seen for themself how brightly the young man seemed to glow despite growing up in such a dark place as Tartarus. It was an amusing sight, and perhaps it was one that eventually assured them to approach him so casually. “You should have some, I heard it’s good to stay hydrated when you’re high,” Prometheus said, their voice low enough to be heard only by the young Rhea as they offered a glass of water. Then, they added with a smile, “I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

[prcmethevs]

icarusfclling​:

Prometheus deflects the compliment, downplays their role, and Icarus wants to wrap his arms around himself as if the ever-temperate halls of Xenios have been invaded by a sudden chill. Is it modesty? Humility? Regret? There is something there, some sentiment they feel the need to hide; whether it is the same bitter resentment he himself is harboring or something else entirely, it is far too soon to see. Icarus tucks it away in his mind, marked ‘for further review’, and attempts to appease the restlessness in his chest by casually leaning against a nearby column.

“You should know, if he hasn’t told you himself, how pleased Zeus was when you accepted his offer. He only surrounds himself with the best, so if you’re here…” Icarus hesitates. If you’re here, he wants to say, you’re trapped. If you’re here you’re either naive or desperate or greedy; I know which one I was. I know which one I am now. Which one are you? “If you’re here, it’s because he thinks you’re worth having around.” The truth, but not the whole of it. The truth, but not the hard part. Maybe they’ll get to that later; maybe they won’t. His whole life is maybes now, uncertainty and illusion, dancing and dodging around the things he wants to say and saying only what he is permitted.

“The festival really does squeeze out everything else, doesn’t it?” Olympe is the thing squeezing, wrapped around and constricting like an enormous snake. It presses the breath from his lungs and leaves no room for clean air — Icarus tries not to wonder how much time he has left before this city, this suffocating corporation with her eternally unsatisfied emperor, finds him crushed beyond the point of usefulness and finally tosses him aside. He tries not to wonder if it will come as a relief.

“This year’s is much larger than it ever was before, but in fairness, my first year here was fresh out of school so I imagine you’re probably right. I remember it felt…” Bright. Exciting, shimmering, full of promise and future, a broad avenue stretching forward over the horizon. “Overwhelming, mostly. I could show you around a bit if you like, once things quiet down.” It’s not much, not nearly enough, but it’s all he has right now and he hopes Prometheus understands. “There’s a few places that I think you’d really like.”

   ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Prometheus had caught themselves then and ducked their head, lips pressed together to swallow the bitterness before it could show itself. Icarus must have mistaken their comment as modesty, and he continued to mention the praise Zeus supposedly sung about them. If they were true, then Prometheus should be breathing out a sigh in relief. After all, a favorable judgment from the king meant trust, and and a king’s trust led to more access to king’s more private dealings, more skeletons they could drag out of for show. Prometheus’ only wish was that they had learned it from anybody else that wasn’t Icarus.

But then, they noticed it. If you’re here, it’s because he thinks you’re worth having around, Icarus had said. Prometheus had looked up then, fixing another smile when they said, “I suppose I can’t refute it if Zeus himself had told you that personally.” Their mind, however, lingered at the pause that had come before his words. It was a troubling thing, that fleeting moment of hesitance, when Prometheus couldn’t even recall a moment when Icarus ever wavered with his words – it had always been his greatest weapon after all. And what is the cost of being regarded so highly by the king? They wanted to ask. How much did you have to give away to be seen worthy? They let the anger and frustration simmer within them, only letting the steam off their system with an off-hand remark and a wry smile, “With all the opportunities that arrives at the gates, it’s a necessary evil, I suppose.” 

When Icarus brought up the offer to meet up again some other time, Prometheus took some time to consider. The two of them had changed so much that it was impossible to imagine them hanging out without the heavy air of awkwardness that hung heavy in the air. Eventually, they nodded. “I’d like that.” It was meant to be a response made out of politeness, the kind given to a promise both of them knew they wouldn’t keep. Yet tenderness bled into their words, nostalgic longing betraying any logical reasonings that were sprouting all the warning them against it. “We can set up a time for when the festival is over, before you go back to Arcadia.” 

♢♢♢

[prcmethevs]

icarusfclling​:

“I’d like to think I’m the same person now as I was back then, just… a little older.” A truth and a lie, a side step around the stumbling block the years have placed between them. He’s always had a gift for words but it was politics that taught Icarus to use them this way - as a veil, a mask, a revolving door that offers glimpses of his heart without stopping long enough to allow anyone in. The truth: that he wants, desperately, to believe he has not changed. The lie: that he does not know exactly what changes the years in Olympe have wrought. 

Icarus doesn’t know what Prometheus will hear in his confession, doesn’t remember enough about the ways his lips curve or his head tilts to read his friend’s body language as though it were his mind anymore. They used to speak in half-sentences, picking up the threads of each other’s ideas and weaving them in and around each other like ribbons in the hands of a pair of dancers. Now they stand in this space that feels oppressively bare, hesitant and unsure, worse than strangers for all the shared history between them, and Icarus feels a sharp pang of loneliness.

“Please, no apology needed. We are colleagues, after all, and I daresay your role here is far more important than mine.” He huffs a soft laugh, waves a hand dismissively, and pretends that isn’t also a truth wrapped in courtesy and humor. They are both pawns, whether Theus knows it or not - the difference is that here, in Olympe, Icarus’ own role is strictly decorative. Zeus brought him here as one might bring a prized racehorse onto the lawn: to be looked at, admired, displayed, then sent back to the track to earn his keep doing what he was bred and bought for.

“It certainly has been interesting, I’ll say that much. This is your first Heteraidia, no?” It must be; he’d only just joined Zeus’ team a few months prior, and this is the first time such a broad invitation has been extended to those outside the city. “How has Olympe been treating you so far?”

How did you end up here? What happened to us? Is this really what you want?

The laughter slipped out of their lips before they could stop it, ringing hollow without an ounce of humor. Icarus had always been a craftsman with his words, much like how a musician mastered the most melodious tunes. The crowd leaned in to listen to his tales, so vivid and persuasive that the most stubborn minds could be swayed, even if only for a second. Prometheus would know, they had been one of those headstrong fools once upon a time. For a brief moment, they were tempted to play that role once more, to believe that somewhere, behind the webs he had constructed and presented to the public was Caro, the boy they had regarded as a kindred spirit. But politicians were liars by design, and Icarus Volati was one of the most brilliant one to sit in the Quorum today. To willingly reach out for a venomous snake would be beyond foolish, as it would be to provoke one.  

And so, they sidestepped around the allure of the past, deciding to focus on the now. “There’s no need for flattery when my only duty is to offer advice and assistance.” It a roundabout way to say what others seem to see them as, a pet project. It was the sugarcoated truth – that they were nothing more than a glorified gofer who runs all over Olympe to expand Zeus’ ever-growing empire and fix the shit show the Rheas caused. 

“And it is my first Heteraidia, yes,” they said with a nod, and then there was a beat of silence as the second question hang heavy in the air. How has Olympe been treating you, such a simple inquiry, one that many would see as an opportunity to brag over the fine things they had enjoyed. Prometheus, however, had built a dam to keep their homesickness at bay. Yet, here was Icarus, so close to breaking it down, once again tempting them to let him: I miss Arcadia, the house that I grew up in, the alleys we used to take as shortcuts whenever we’re running late to go to campus, and I wish there was a way to leave this all behind and return go home – how will we ever find our way home now? “Olympe has been good, I just haven’t had the time to explore,” they finally responded. “The Heteraidia preparations had kept me busy, ad did other things.” Then, with a thin smile, “I’m sure it’s not much different than your first year here.”

♢♢♢

[prcmethevs]

icarusfclling​:

Everything about this exchange feels strange, feels distant and foreign and wrong. Icarus thinks of traveling to Thebes, how he’d wandered through an informal market on the outskirts of the city and listened to the vendors shouting and customers haggling in their native dialect — close enough to Arcadia’s to seem familiar, but full of words and phrases and sounds he couldn’t understand. All his old friends speak other languages now and each interaction is defined by the limits of their shared vocabulary, trapped in a maze of formalities because the informal, the personal, has changed too much.

Necessary evil. Does he know? Surely Prometheus must know how apt the phrase really is. For a brief moment Icarus allows himself to believe, to hope, that perhaps their paths have not diverged so far after all. Perhaps…

But hope is a dangerous thing, trust even more so. And here, in the open, where for all either of them know there is a microphone hidden in every room, there is nothing to do but continue the charade. “Evil’s a strong word, but I understand what you mean.” Does he? Will he ever? There’s a weighted pause, a moment of silence as Prometheus contemplates the offer, and it presses on the tender place in his heart where memories of this old friend lie safely tucked away. Always careful, always thoughtful, never one to speak without first weighing his words; they had been formidable in the university debate hall, Prometheus building the framework on which Icarus could weave a thousand threads into a single irresistible argument.

The answer he gets is more gentle than expected, followed instantly by another reminder of the distance that still lies between them. “Oh, I… I won’t be going back to Arcadia until the spring.” Every time he has to tell someone, his heart breaks a little more. “I live here now — on the estate, actually.” Zeus likes to keep his cards close to his chest. Icarus chuckles, deflects the discomfort with a joke he hopes Prometheus won’t see through.

“It makes the commute to my day job significantly shorter.”

Prometheus studied him closely, searching for a little twitch on his lips, a creasing of his brows, a shift in his gaze — any reaction that they could pinpoint as a telltale. There was a time when they had little to no trouble in figuring out what was on his mind, like skimming through your well-loved book and having your gaze land one your favorite parts. Yet standing there, Prometheus couldn’t catch a glimpse of what lies underneath the formal pleasantries. 

They wondered then if it was was simply the passing time that had eroded their memories of Caro’s little quirks, or if Icarus had simply learned to secure their own mask well enough over the years they were apart. Or perhaps he had grown into this new skin of his, like any career politicians would. All those factors shouldn’t come as a surprise, yet Prometheus couldn’t stop themself from feeling deflated.

The smile that found its way to their lips was small and thin, and yet it felt so heavy to carry.  “It was only a figure of speech, really. But I’m glad you understand my intention.” A lie, because somewhere deep within them was a desire they could hardly contain — one that urged them to grab their old friend by the shoulder and shake him violently, as if that could wake them both up from this strange dream they found themselves in.

But the bridge to who they were in the past had burned long ago, and Prometheus knew better than to delude themself into thinking they could simply rebuild the same one again now. No, they needed to accept this new reality they were in, the two different people they had both become. And so Prometheus shoved down any longing they had left in them as best as they could. “I understand the sentiment.” It’s a shorter distance to the hand that feeds you. “I suppose that makes it easier for us to arrange time to meet in the future, since we both live up here now.”

♢♢♢

[prcmethevs]

ohartemis​:

Somewhere, maybe, she feels for the person who’s her father’s legal aide. Nemean News itself proves to be a fucking minefield, or at least she imagines it does, but then there’s Zeus’ children and their transgressions. Or rather, there is Artemis, the once fondly-thought-of troublemaker grown into a woman who had making trouble into her very brand. Sure, Dion and Apollo caused their little issues, but she? Ah, if she was Prometheus she’d strike herself across the face, lock her into her room at the estate and not let her out except for her work-related duties. But she isn’t Prometheus, and that’s the issue: she’s Artemis Rhea. And anyone who works under her father is, well, but a pawn in her own little childish game.

Like father, like daughter.

But she does like Prometheus, really. All this isn’t born out of maliciousness, but from a hunger for either control or independence, or perhaps both. Prometheus, really, is just a typical tale of wrong place, wrong time – or rather, wrong boss. So she makes his life a little harder, but she likes to think she offers a little fun in return, the Artemis Rhea experience, if you will. 

“Very fair and very valid point, but I am nowhere near drunk, just tiptoeing around tipsiness, which is perfectly socially acceptable, especially here.” And to her credit, her tolerance is high, as Artemis has self-medicated with alcohol aplenty. There’s another sip taken, lips coming back grinning as she pulls the glass away from them. “Well, introduce me, then! With our combined networks, Prom-Prom, we can rule the world, I’m certain of it.” She leans a little closer. “I want to pick her brain on her last paper on the myth of objective journalism. But that’s not for tonight, tonight I just want to make a connect.” She leans in even further, boops Prometheus’ nose. “It’s called networking.”

♢♢♢

Prometheus wrinkled their nose at the nose boop and let out a huff of air. “I get networking. This particular way of networking though, it’s all just... Well, new.” Absurd, superficial, frivolous. Those were probably words that would express their reluctance more aptly. After all, this was another Olympian custom that they couldn’t quite wrap their head around. Yet it was a necessary skill to master if they wanted to blend in with the rest of them and bid their time, whether they liked it or not. 

And so they weighed out their option as they studied Artemis. There was a glint in her eyes that was mirrored in her attempt to assure them – something they could only pinpoint as an equal mix of confidence and mischief. A part of them were at least a little curious to find out the line of thoughts that Artemis had mapped out in ther mind, where she was planning to take the conversation, and how far she was willing to go to prove her point. Though with the topic she planned to bring up, Prometheus could imagine the headlines that could potentially set Tala on fire and the field day everyone at Nemean would have to put it out. Still, whatever awaits, they decided they could survive a little graze from the fire.

And so, Prometheus grabbed what was left of their drink on the table and threw it back in true Olympian fashion. The liquor burned hot and sweet in their throat as thin clouds of haze formed in their mind. “Alright, let’s go and rule the together world then, shall we?” Then, with a small smile on their face. “But I’m tapping out before you get in the tub— that might be one too many new things for the night.”

>> END