Katzaniel

Katharine gasps, Marcus putting a hand on her shoulder to steady her. Shock pervades her voice when she stutters, "A...assasination? But who...who could do such a thing? Why could... anyone want good Cecil... dead?"

As the last of the guests pile out of the train, and Marcus has not descended the steps, Katharine begins to worry. Charles' absence was expected, but where could Marcus be? Before the train can leave, she climbs up to it and inquires whether any passengers might be sleeping in their compartments. Somehow it never occurs to her that Marcus might have already left for the house. The kindly steward conducts a quick but thorough search for the frantic elderly lady but finally has to tell her that he's sorry, but the only passengers still aboard are going on to the next stop. Confused and worried, Katharine leaves the station. She considers going home, but the mail had arrived earlier in the day and nothing new could be there by now. Whatever could have happened to keep him away, word could not arrive until tomorrow at the soonest, and she could not do anything for him. Well, she had seen a few other old aquaintances arriving while she was waiting. She couldn't imagine doing anything as mundane as socializing when her son might be hurt (or dead!) but there was nothing else to do. She had often counselled her students about similar circumstances, saying "If you can't act on it, don't think on it." She would do no good here. Besides, someone at the mansion might have news from him. That thought did it for her. She headed as quickly as she could to Garnavon Hall. (OOC: Someone has to smack me about my terrible tendency to change tense between posts, but I probably shouldn't edit the first one, and I'm not going to start using past tense again, or I'll just find myself switching later...)

Katherine Horton carefully descended the front steps of her modest little house. The big day was coming quickly upon them all, and she had at least one person to meet at the train station today. Today was the last time the train passed by the village before the day of little Richard's wedding. It was hard to think of him as being grown up now, she'd known him well as a child. He loved mischief but he'd always put effort into his schoolwork. A good boy. Anyway, the last guests were arriving in the village today, there would be little other chance to come. Thus, Katherine would find out today whether Charles would bother to come. Marcus would be here, with or without his wife and two sons, but Charles had not sent word at all. Ever since he'd run off with the girl Rachael at eighteen, Charles had barely bothered to visit. But, like everyone in the town, he'd been friends with the Garnavon family since his childhood - surely he would come. Katherine picked her way down to the station, feeling acutely the pain in her back. She was getting older. It would be wonderful if she could see Charles again before she died. She shook her head. No use thinking about it. She would see Marcus, Marcus always came when she needed him, and hopefully he would be able to bring his family. She shouldn't fool herself that there'd be a chance Charles would come too. The elderly woman reached the station and sat down on a bench to wait. This would be a good week for all of them. Best to focus on that. One of the best times this village had seen in a long time.

Yes, welcome back to your *other* home! We're here when you need us and don't feel rushed. We only need you in the sense that we miss you, and we can cope until you're able to participate on your own terms again. Congrats on the house - I'm not sure if I mentioned that before. And we're all having fun exploring the guild as it is at the moment. It's plenty to keep us busy. Thanks, Salinye.

I simply had to share this with someone. Enjoy. --- support@yahoo.com wrote: > Dear user of Yahoo.com, > > We warn you about some attacks on your e-mail account. Your computer may > contain viruses, in order to keep your computer and e-mail account safe, > please, follow the instructions. > > For further details see the attach. > > Sincerely, > The Yahoo.com team > http://www.yahoo.com > > ATTACHMENT part 2 application/octet-stream name=Attach.pif I wrote: (please note, I didn't really think this was from Yahoo) Um... "for further details see the attachment"...??? I don't care if you are the support team, I do NOT open unsolicited attachments. If you want me to do something about so-called possible viruses, please send me the information directly. Thank you. Yahoo replied: Hello, Thank you for writing to Yahoo! Mail. Recently, there have been reports of theW32.Beagle.J@mm/W32/Bagle.j@mm worm virus spreading quickly across email networks. Typical of worms, the W32.Beagle.J@mm worm propagates itself by sending a mass email with an infected attachment to email addresses found in an infected computer's files (e.g., address books, text files, etc.). Infected attachments may come in the form of the following files: .zip or .pif. The .zip file contains a password-protected .exe file with the 5-digit password mentioned in the email. In addition, the email that is sent out by the worm will contain a forged email address in the "From:" field of the email header beginning with one of the following: management@, administration@, staff@, noreply@, or support@. Therefore, email users may receive an infected message and it may appear to have come from a familiar domain, when in fact, it came from a totally different source. (Note: The forging of the email header may also result in users receiving "Failure Delivery" messages for messages they never sent out. If you receive such a message, we encourage you to just delete it.) For more information on this particular worm, you may visit: http://securityresponse.symantec.com/avcen...eagle.j@mm.html It is important to note that Yahoo! Mail is a web-based email system. Your email messages, address book, and other account information are stored on Yahoo!'s servers, rather than on your computer. Because most viruses and worms infect your local computer, it is very unlikely that this worm would propagate through a Yahoo! Mail account. Furthermore, simply viewing your email messages in Yahoo! Mail does not make your computer vulnerable to the worm. Attachments sent along with emails are not a threat to your system if you do not download or open them. However, if you choose to download or open an email attachment, your computer does become vulnerable to computer viruses and worms. The same is true of all files you download to your computer, whether email attachments or not. Always keep in mind that there is a risk involved whenever downloading email attachments to your computer or sending email attachments to others. As stated in the Yahoo! Terms of Service, neither Yahoo! nor its licensors are responsible for any damages caused by your decision to do so. The Yahoo! Mail Abuse team recommends that you never download files from an unknown source. As a general rule, we recommend that you always choose to scan email attachments for viruses before downloading them, even if the sender may be familiar to you. Following these suggestions will greatly reduce your likelihood of experiencing trouble from computer viruses and worms. If you believe you have a virus or worm on your system, we recommend that you run an anti-virus program with the latest updates. You may also choose to contact your computer's user support group for assistance. Thank you again for contacting Yahoo! Customer Care. Regards, Clarence Yahoo! Customer Care http://www.yahoo.com/

After Anthony is finally able to come to grips with himself and with his parent's deaths, he also knows that there is no real reason to go back right away. Sure, he still cared about his business, but there was no longer any sense of urgency. True, he didn't want to lose his friends, especially since they had been so helpful and kind in the last little while, but they weren't going to be calling him just yet, and if they did they would understand his reluctance to pick up. Instead, Anthony decides to explore. Not his own computer; he knows that well enough. This time, he follows some light-corridors for a while until he comes to what must be another person's computer. The light is almost blinding, here, and he realizes that this means it is on. Somewhere in the back of his mind he registers the fact that his own computer must be off, then, when he's inside of it. When he adjusts to the light, Anthony realizes that not much is different from the appearance of his own computer. Gliding around, he is able to figure out which file is open, noting from hindsight that it should have been obvious. He reads for a while. It is some sort of history essay. Just to see if he can, Anthony corrects a typo in the file. The stream of words irregularily appearing at the end of the file stop for a moment. A brief pause. The confusion is almost tangible. Anthony regrets the action, but when the words start coming again, he soon loses interest. Down another corridor. Probably wires, Anthony thinks. This time he finds a chat room, bubbling with personalities. Curiosity piqued, he manifests himself as a name in the list of people in the room. He is surprised but eager when not only does it appear there, but the words "Cyberman has entered the room." appear on the person's screen. Excited, he concentrates on creating a user description for himself. He doesn't understand where in cyberspace the description exists, but he can tell very quickly that it's not on this computer. It must be wherever he is. It occurs to Anthony that if all the computers in the entire world were turned off, there would be no cyberspace. No internet. Or would there? If it would still exist, it must do so in the place that he is now. Looking back to the screen, he notices that someone is talking to him. They want to know where he is from, how old is he? Obviously he's a man, they laugh. By the way they like the name. But they want to know more. Proud of himself and growing steadily more enthusiastic, he makes up a history for Cyberman. With his mind for the first time in a long time off of the subject of his parents, Anthony really begins to enjoy himself, enjoy being Cyberman. Wherever it is that he is right now, he exists only as this character. Cyberman lives in a family of six, is twenty five and has a girlfriend. About the only thing about Cyberman that is consistent with what Anthony had been was the age. Cyberman is good at sports and has many close friends. Like everything online, what is witnessed by others is the only truth. Cyberman exists because there is no other way to verify anything. And when the computer goes off, none of it matters. Anthony, masquerading as Cyberman, has a good time chatting. When he notices that all of the original personas had left, he decides it's enough for now. He can't remember how long he's been there, but he says goodnight and returns through the cables to his own machine. When he pictures himself pressing the switch and finds himself again in his body, he is surprised to note that his body is not tired or hungry. He falls asleep thinking of his parents again, but for the first time since their deaths he does not cry.

Anthony goes to bed that night without looking for the file. He doesn't really know why he doesn't look, but some part of him now feels settled with itself, at rest with the matter. The next morning and for many days afterward he settles back into his routine. He wakes up early in the morning, eats breakfast and settles to work at whatever the day's business has set for him, meeting with clients, making payments to the bank, or just sitting down and programming. And every night before he goes to bed, he looks for a second at the power switch before deciding to leave the computer on, and going to bed. He tells himself that it's faster to leave it on all night than to sit through the boot-up every morning, and time is more important than electricity. He tells himself that it might well save power, with the length of time he's working on it, it is actually more efficient to have it running all the time than spending the energy to power up and power down. He tells himself that after being hit by lightening while on, maybe the computer would be damaged if turned off. He tells himself that it's force of habit. And soon, that is exactly what it is. His only reminder that something has changed in his life is the faint hum eminating from the den while he sleeps, and in time that too becomes normal. Then one day after Anthony hangs up the phone from speaking to an impatient client, he is surprised to hear it ringing again. He picks it up, expecting that the woman must have forgotten something she wanted to tell him. Instead, he is informed by the compassionate man on the other end of the phone that his parents have died in a car crash. Devastated, he barely manages to finish the conversation. He drops the phone reciever and doesn't bother to pick it up. He curls up on the floor and sleeps right then and there, having terrible recurrent nightmares about how long it had been since he'd talked to either of them, how young they still were, how painful the accident must have been. Sooner than he wants to, he begins the painful process of explaining to people what happened. Since he works alone, it isn't very long before clients are phoning and asking why their software is late. He tearfully tells them that he doesn't know how long it will be, he can't work on it now, his parents are dead. Some of them, expressing regret, withdraw their requests from him. They apologize for his loss, but they need the program right away, they will offer him their business when he is done mourning. He feels that he will never be done mourning. Anthony's friends stop by, offering regrets and offering help. They bring food, they bring flowers, they bring compassion. He is glad of them, but doesn't know how to talk to them, can't find any words. Little by little, as time passes, they stop coming. He is cooking his own suppers again, he seems to be better. What else can they say to him? What else can they do? Wanting more than anything to be alone, he tells them when they ask that he is managing all right, that he is getting over it. He tells them thank you, and they leave him alone. He cries himself to sleep every night for months afterward. They weren't ready, he wasn't ready. After he had paid off his loans, once his business had started making enough money for him to live comfortably, he was going to buy them gifts. He'd been going to spend more time with them. He was going to do so much more than he had been doing. Their only son, and they had not heard from him at all the weeks before their death. Anthony is woken one night by the humming of the computer. He lies there for a while, unable to recapture his slumber. The noise interferes, but the grieving is worse. After a while he gets up and goes to the machine, sitting down in the chair and looking blankly at the screen. Then he opens up a text editor and begins to write. Words spill from him. Hours pass to find him still typing madly away. He covers his range of emotions about his parent's lives, their sudden death, the kind of son he'd been. He is strangely soothed by getting it down in writing and he is soon venting about his strained relationship with his friends, his lack of a girlfriend, his inability to play sports. Always the thread is related in some way to his mourning and he weaves the words about, covering every facet of his and their lives. When he's done, he lays his head on the desk and sobs. A calmness begins to enter into his being. Anthony has finally managed to purge some of the worries and regrets that he had been carrying around. He starts the process of coming back to himself, and he looks for a place to save his writings. In rooting around his computer for a non work related directory, he stumbles across the file called "cyber". Anthony saves what he's written in the same directory, then goes back to open the old file. In rereading it, the memories of the blackness are recreated so well that Anthony decides there could not be any explanation for the experience and for the existance of the file other than that it had been real. He reaches once again to turn off the computer. Anthony lays in the darkness for a while, thinking. He thinks of his parents, of his friends, of a childhood girlfriend. He thinks of his lonliness and his aspirations and weighs them together. In the timeless night, he rereads the efforts of the past hours and then reads it all again. He aligns his emotions and comes to terms with his past. And he decides that there isn't much to drive him home.

Wow. Wow wow wow. I've only read the first three or four and maybe another somewhere in the middle, so far, but I wish I could make my writing as good as yours after revision, never mind sitting down and having it just come out like that. The words all fit so well together, the images you create seem perfect in my head... How come I haven't seen more of your writing? Oh well, I'll certainly be taking the time to find it now.

Days later Anthony is still leaving his computer on when he's done. Logic tells him that the lightening must have struck again, but his fear surpasses that knowledge and every time he reaches for the switch, he finds his mind recoiling. So he ignores its glow, ignores the hum, ignores his fear. One day it grows too much for him. He can't live not knowing whether he imagined that strange floating feeling, those unfamiliar lights, that unique sensation of becoming himself. The day's work done, he sits in the chair for a few minutes steeling himself. It wouldn't happen again, it couldn't. But if it didn't, what did that mean? That he had imagined all of that wasn't comforting either. Breathing unevenly, not knowing what to expect and not knowing what to hope, Anthony hits the power. And finds himself instantly in the same blackness as before. His heart skips a beat. Panic swells up within him and his mind reels forth the image of himself, but he gets ahold of himself and beats it down. A calm curiosity takes hold of him. He knows how to return. What he doesn't know is where he is. He concentrates his mind on figuring that out. Exploring. Floating in nothingness, unable to feel his body or anything else, he lets his mind roam. What he finds is not so much a view but an impression of his surroundings. It is like a half realized dream, part of him is insisting that none of this is possible, but at the same time he knows that there isn't really any other explanation. Either he has gone, almost overnight, absolutely and delusionally insane, or... or he is inside his computer. Looking around, he sees, or feels, files floating around inside entities that must be folders. Only somewhat convinced, he projects his senses and discovers all the familiar elements of his computer - his documents, his colour scheme and icons and shortcuts. His games, none of which he had played for years, always too busy. The internet. He reaches toward it and is welcomed with his homepage, his online business site. But this could just as easily still be a dream. There is no proof, not even the realness of real-life to make him think he's really here. Only an illusion that is far too unreal even for a dream to tell him that this might, despite everything, be really happening. In an inspiration, he concentrates extra hard for a moment and creates a file. He calls it "cyber" and writes inside of it a dazed, chaotic description of his surroundings. Then he reaches again in his mind for the power switch, sees the ghost image, and finds himself in his chair.

It takes a moment for Anthony to realize that he is still awake. He hasn't blacked out at all, but something is very strange. He can't see anything, or not quite. He thinks maybe he can make out some lights in the distance, but they sort of skitter around his vision. Mostly it is just dark. He tries to move and feels a sort of drifting sensation. Not feeling his body, he freaks out and tries to remember what exactly happened. As the picture forms in his head of himself pressing the power button on his computer, he sort of sees the image in front of him, like a ghost version of himself made up of light. Before that can even register in his mind, he finds himself zooming toward that image and merging with it. He opens his eyes, confused to find them closed, and takes a gulp of air. He finds himself sitting again in his chair with his finger resting on "power". Quickly he jerks his hand away, standing up and tripping over his chair in the process of backing up. What had happened? It had to be his imagination. It was silly to be afraid, obviously he was just dreaming. Maybe lightning had struck again, knocking him unconscious this time. He just needs sleep. With the storm around, he really shouldn't leave the computer on, he could lose all his data, lose his entire business. But he finds that he can't do it, he can't reach for that switch again. He turns around and heads for bed with the machine still on, sinking into bed with a strange sort of desperation in his head, finding some much needed rest.

Anthony's clock alarm drills at six the next morning and he rolls out of bed, hits the button and trods down the hall to the kitchen. He really is tired, but it is a necessary sacrifice. He needs to work to make money, and he needs money to live. When he is out of debt, he will be able to sleep in all he wants. That's the point of having your own business, right? Pouring himself some cheerios, Anthony does notice that it is raining. It is storming now, too. What a dreary day. He tips the milk onto his cereal and brings it into the den with him. He turns on the computer and works for about half an hour, eating between lines of code, not really paying attention to anything. Then, without warning, lightning strikes the house. It must have gone through his cables, too, because he feels a minor surge go through himself from the mouse. It is a strange sensation, warm and tingly, but only for a moment. Anthony stands up and walks around the room once, feeling fine. Nothing wrong with him. Realizing it would be foolhardy to continue working, he quickly saves his file and exits the program. Then he reaches down to turn off the power, and blacks out.

Midnight. Anthony sighs inwardly. He likes his friends, he even enjoys going out with them when he can. But too often he feels like it is more of a duty than a break. He is busy, he can't afford to take all this time off of work, but he doesn't want to lose his friends either. They only call him once every few months; he knows that if he ever started to say no when they called, they would probably stop calling altogether. "Hey, what's up, man?" Josh looks concerned. "Oh... nothing, I guess I'm just tired." Anthony shrugs. He knows he shouldn't feel this way, but mostly he just wants to let them talk to each other so he can work out when he will be able to repay that bank loan. But it was not to be. His friends are having one of their rare let's-include-Anthony-in-the-conversation moments. "How's the business?" Not that they really care. It is just something to say to him, and he knows that any run of the mill answer will suffice. "It's fine," he replies. "Routine as usual, and routine is good. It means nothing is going wrong." He smiles to show that it was a joke, but it only results in polite laughter. In truth, Anthony liked it when things went wrong, because it made work interesting and gave him a challenge to occupy his thoughts. It was when things were not routine that he thrived, working late into the night and early in the mornings. He wishes again that he were working on this night. They ask him a few more questions about his internet business. Most of them don't really understand what it is he does, exactly. All they know is that it takes up a lot of his time, and earns him enough money. He answers politely, hoping they can't tell that his mind is not wholly with them. After a while they run out of questions, and a little while after that, there is a lull in their conversation, and Anthony makes his exit, telling them he isn't getting enough sleep lately. Probably true, but not his primary reason for leaving. On the drive home, he turns up his music and turns his thoughts to work. He will get up early in the morning to make up for tonight. And if he can attract just four more orders by the end of this month, he will be out of debt. He doesn't even notice the drizzling rain pouring down around him.

Yes, it's not exactly easy to explain his death in a strictly roleplaying context. You're doing the story credit with these, and that edit made it a lot more logical.

These continue to be great reads. As for this last one, though, out of context of the whole voting system, it seems very unlikely. You put it down very closely to what actually happened, but I think the part about Iron Chef's death comes across poorly. ie) They all say they think he's guilty because he won't speak. He refuses to speak. They agree that he must be guilty. Iago asks him to show why he will not speak, and he finally does. They all say, "oh, okay then." He cooks them dinner and then kills himself. I think there's a few things that might improve it: * You could add a little dialogue with people saying that they still think he's guilty. * You could move the part where he finally opens his mouth, in lieu of having Mizuhara ask him to, maybe in his last moment, just as he's dying, he opens it and that's when Iago notices the lack of tongue and comments. * Or maybe just before or just after Mizuhara makes that last request and Iron Chef acknowleges, Mizuhara pronounces that the guilt is obvious through lack of trying to communicate and no evidence could show otherwise. Just something to explain why he still has to die after he's shown the reason for his silence... Hope this helps. I am really enjoying the product of your efforts Tanuchan.

Feedback? Okay. I'm really enjoying it. The flow is much improved, the characters seem smoother, and we get to see the reasoning of the wolves without knowing right away who they are. (I'm not sure if you can or intend to try keeping that up very far, it probably won't be possible, but I'm glad you haven't given it away in the first day and night). About the only thing that concerns me is the title - what happens if someone want to write up the first werewolf story? It's sort of too late to change the title, but I think it would be less confusing if for the third one we skip right to III and the rest of the chronicles are numbered at the same place as the games.

Ack! But it's not done yet, I just wanted to post the first bit so I'd remember to come back later... The alchemist hasn't even made his appearance. He's going to want revenge, you know. I'll post more later. (Approved, indeed

EDIT by Katzaniel (of March 2006): The following was written as an application to the StoryWeaver Guild. Katz out. (Sorta) Gnarled fingers wrap silently around a doorknob, gently turning it until a short creak is heard. The wizard's eyes narrow and his eyes coolly investigate the surrounding grounds. Nothing appears, and within a moment the man is through the door, closing it quietly behind him. Only footfalls indicate his whereabouts in the dark, for he sees by magic. "Triphenylcycloctane." the word echoes softly and a faint click is heard. "Dimethylbromobutane." There is a tangible pause, and another click. The mood is broken at that moment, rather abruptly. The sound of running feet begins from far away down the hall, but the wizard does not get more than a few feet before the noise has travelled right up to him. Nothing happens for a brief moment while the old wizard awaits judgement. Then the lights come on and a tiny gnome can be seen running from the light switch back to the man. The man, holding in his left hand a jar of chemicals, lifts the wand in his right. An open backpack lies at his feet. "Eye of armadillo, toe of newt..." begins the wizard unceremoniously. "Oh, give it up, old man." says the gnome. "I can outrun any spell you throw at me. Just put the stuff back on old Rekkle's shelf and you can leave in one piece." Eyes narrow. "Bark of willow, mandrake root..." Inside the wizard's pack, items begin to adjust themselves. A blur is seen around the wizard as the gnome begins moving again. A look of concern does enter the man's eyes as he notes that he is being tied up, but he continues, more quickly now. "Head of crow, human brain, Dimethylbromobutane..." More movement from the backpack. His voice takes on a note of panic, he knows he won't be able to finish the incantation. He can no longer move his legs because of the rope around them. He nevertheless holds firm in his choice. "These things combine, to steal your shape..." The objects settle themselves in place, but the man's wand arm is now tied to his side, impotent. He knows he can't say the last words without it. He looks worried, and opens his mouth hesitantly. Before he can say anything, there is a tremendous crash and the blur becomes a wounded gnome, sitting next to a wobbling shelf and nursing its head. "Oooh, Greeb is hurt, oh, where am I...?" The little creature swoons and falls over. A malicious grin forms on the wizard's face. He spends a moment freeing his arm before triumphantly saying, "Object benign, help me escape!" Convulsions overtake the wretched gnome. His body twitches for a moment before stiffening, limbs splaying out and then clapping together, arms above his head forming a point and his legs straight below. He levitates slightly and then a popping sound is heard as his body is transformed into a dagger. The wizard flicks his wrist and the blade comes over to him and chops off the ropes that bind him. He leans over and shoves the dagger along with the jars into his pack, picking out a few more as he goes. Then he escapes into the night. OOC: I'm not sure how much I need to write ("As much as you feel like dear", I can just hear the echoes in my head) but I'm not done yet. I just thought I should get the first part in. Also, a note: For inspiration, I got four character descriptions from Tamaranis and Falcon2001. I'm going to try to incorporate all of these elements before all is through: Manipulative magic hungry maniacal small fast clumsy gnome freaky floating talking sword odd smelling old alchemist

How could there be a cheese guild, and me not knowing about it? :woot: Hmm, that link didn't work for me..

We've decided on Horton. Katharine Horton and her son Marcus Horton. *rubs hands* Can't wait to get going on this.

I was thinking around 65, 70. That would make you 40, 45 I guess. How old did people usually have their kids in 17th century England? (Do I have the century right?) I'd have no idea what the last name should be. Since it wouldn't be her maiden name anyway, pick one that goes well with your character's name and she'll just have to put up with it I wonder if we should PM back and forth and set up some family history, like how the father died, where the other brother is, what sort of relationship our characters have. Or just let all that come out as we play. Thanks. Foolish: Butler! If I weren't a little old lady who wouldn't need a butler, I'd hire you I'm sure someone'll take you on.

Wow, that's awesome Elwen. Incredibly engrossing. (One another note, instead of angle brackets, you need to use square brackets to get your bold and italics to work.) Keep it up!

Oh, I'm sure it will just as good Tanny. I'm totally pumped. Ozy, why? I'm curious because I love the way he gives all his characters stage-time and everyone (or mostly everyone) is so in-depth. I especially like the way he does his intro chapter, and if I ever write a book I plan to make it similar in style to that. So to help me, could describe what turned you off of it? And sit up straight while you're doing it, son! Speak up, I can't hear you!

Pages run errands? I like this new rule! Get me a 7up Yuki! Snap to it!

Oh, I know about that (thought maybe you meant something else) - but I don't set mine to my timezone because I'm paranoid of internet stalkers , and I'm still not sure how many hours the default is off of my time. I guess I'm just gonna have to do the math now and then add that many hours each time. On another note... If we are going to do England, I think I'm gonna be a retired widowed schoolteacher. Anyone up for playing one of my two grown sons?

Perrin would be funny. Sure we can't have someone play Perrin? What's the timestamp? Can you demonstrate?