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CHAPTER 19: …HOME
“Here we are, home sweet… apartment building. I live on the fifth floor.”
I take the silence behind me as an acknowledgement.
At the front door, there’s a keypad. It’s about the only electronic lock in the whole building. Old stuff, this building. I step aside and type the code in full view of Eva. “It’s 1-1-2-3-5-8. You don’t need it to get out, but… err… I forgot what I was about to say. Anyway.”
“Fibonacci?”
“Eh? …Oh. I’d never noticed. …Eh. The more you know.”
I pushed the door opened and cast a forlorn glance to the elevator. I don’t think Eva would handle well being in a confined space with a man.
“Stairs?”
“...please.”
I sigh like my life is about to end.
“You can take the elevator if you want. I’m sure I’ll be able to count up to five.”
Is that sarcasm I hear?
“No, no. It’s good for me too. I need to lose a few pounds anyway. Alright! Let’s race it!”
“That’s not necess…”
I’m already halfway to the first floor.
If you’re going to do something annoying, do it the fun way!
I’m sure I’ve written a rule about that.
* * *
As I reach the fifth floor, I have realised the errors of my ways.
…
I am much more out shape than I thought!!
Or have those stairs gotten taller since last time I climbed them? Mmmh. Yes. That has to be it. Stairs are spawns of the Devil!
You really should exercise a bit more.
…I know.
Ugh. I’m going to die.
I’m sorry… Eva… take care of… McLeon… for me… I’m sorry… argh.
Quit being such a drama queen.
In the time I need to catch my breath, Eva catches up. I watch her in the corner of my eye. She doesn’t appear even slightly out-of-breath.
Hoy. Aren’t you a bookworm, glasses-chan? What kind of muscles are you hiding under that turtleneck? I thought you were something between Miyazaki Nodoka and Arashiko Yuuno, but are you really more Mikasa Ackerman?
Again, the stabbing should have clued me.
Hoy! Do I look like a titan to you?
Well, she is rather small…
Sigh. Why is every woman I know either crazy or a man?
Don’t you think you kind of look for them too?
Objection, Your Honour! My client is innocent!
Overruled.
I’m an abused bachelor.
Which, reminds me. I need to quickly get Eva in my apartment before the Succubus of the Fifth Floor smells fresh blood on her territory.
“Heeey~! Ni~ck! Who is that cutie~?”
AAAAH!!! Too late!
Abort mission!
Mayday! Mayday!
Run you fools!
Call an exorcist!
I spin around. There she is, leaning against the wall by her door, in all her blonde, boobsy succubusness. At least isn’t naked, although I would hardly call her ripped mini-short and loose tank top straining to contain her massive attributes “decent”.
She’s…clad.
I suppose that’s better than the alternative?
I don’t know… It’s less vulgar, but what little is hidden instead ups the eroticism by at least 543%!
What kind of arbitrary number is that?
I smile vapidly. “Mary, you’re…here. I’d thought you’d have hit the bars by now.”
“Aw~. Why so cold?” She traipses over to me. I take a step back. She giggles. “What? Don’t want to show your little girlfriend how close we are?” With a suggestive pout of her luscious lips, she comes closer, arms slightly apart, going for the hug.
“She’s no—”
“I’m not his girlfriend.”
Ouch. I don’t know why, but that hurt.
Did you really need to sound so disgusted by the mere idea, Eva-sama?
“Then don’t mind if I take him!”
While I’m still stunned by Eva’s unexpected blow, two other blows impact my chest, softer but still nearly toppling me over. Arms encircle my midriff and hug me tightly. Very tightly. Too tightly! “Mary, timeout. Timeout. I can…breathe!” Having no mat, I tap the air in surrender.
The man-eating demon isn’t listening.
“Niiiiii-hick! Where were you all day?! I was soooooo lonely!”
“I was at school, you crazy woman!” I look down to push her away. A smell of booze hits me straight in the face. Jesus! “Mary! You’re drunk! It’s not even seven o’clock!”
“But! But! He dumped me!”
“Who what? Since when do you even have a boyfriend?!”
“Yesterday!”
“THAT DOES NOT WARRANT TO GET DEPRESSED OVER A BREAKUP!! In fact, that’s not even a breakup.”
“But! But! He said I was fat and ugly.”
“Well, clearly, he needs to get his eyes checked. Or maybe his brain. You know you’re gorgeous.”
“Liar! You say that, but you never want to fuck me!”
Oh, boy…
Why do I feel a pair of judging eyes bearing into my back?
I slightly turn around towards Eva and, with difficulties, fish a key in my pocket and throw it to her. She catches it deftly. Her eyes move from the wall to her hand.
Wait, she wasn’t even looking? How good are your reflexes, Eva-sama?
“…a key?”
“It’s an old building,” I explain. “Mine is the number five. Go ahead, make yourself at home. The guest room is the one that isn’t filled with weird stuff… You’ll know which one. Don’t bite the cat and he won’t bite back. I’ll go put that silly woman to sleep then I’ll fix us something to eat. Okay?”
“…alright.” She walks past me and Mary, eyes resolutely on the floor. “Take your time.”
Don’t misunderstand!
“Thanks~! We will!”
DON’T MAKE IT WORSE!!
As soon as my door closes behind Eva, Mary smiles up at me.
“Now, where were we?” she purrs.
I reply in my most deadpan voice. “We were going to get you a large glass of water and then off to bed and sleep, missy.”
“Don’t wanna! You’re so mean to Big Sister! Meanie! Cold heart! Gigolo! It’s because you like them short and childish and flat like that girl, don’t you? What was she? Ten? Paedophile!”
“Alright. That’s enough.” I grab her wrists and push her off me, before dragging her through her opened door.
The layout of her flat is the same as mine, and I’ve been here before—for casual shared meals when she wasn’t completely smashed and slightly less grabby—and I have no trouble bringing her to her bedroom. She isn’t resisting much, though, and is even giggling the whole way like some bimbo I know she isn’t.
“Aw~ I like when you’re so forceful. Will you ravage me on the bed? Or do you prefer the floor?”
Inside the bedroom, I stop, turn around, grab her upper arms, just tightly enough to be uncomfortable. She wriggles a little, trying to step back. But she isn’t a secret OP ninja like Eva. I hold her in place easily. I glare in her stunning purplish blue eyes. She opens her mouth but something in my gaze causes her to keep whatever she was going to say to herself.
Good.
“Now, Mary, you listen to me. I’m going to go to the kitchen and fetch you a glass of water. When I come back, I want you in that bed—ready for sleep and not taking any sort of suggestive pose. Do you understand me?”
The last bits of her sultry smile drops, along with her gaze, and she nods meekly.
“Good.”
I leave her there and make a quick trip to the kitchen. When I come back, she has complied and is in her bed, apparently ready for sleep. I’ll forgive her outrageous babydoll, that’s just who she is.
I hand over the glass of water and she drinks it with a wronged look, as if she was a little girl and I’d just refused her candy. The glass empty, I take it back and put it on the nightstand, next to a PET bottle with more water.
“Nick, why won’t you fuck me?”
I pray that no actual little girl will ever ask me that question.
Even I have limits.
“It’s because you think I’m ugly, useless and pathetic, don’t you?”
Now, where is that wave of negativity coming from? The Mary I know is so confident in her own image, she would walk down the street naked if the law permitted it.
My mind goes to Eva and what she might be doing in my apartment. With a sigh, I push that scary thought aside and sit down on the edge of the bed. “Now, will you tell me what’s really going on?”
“Nuthin’. You’re just a hypocritical asshole and I’m a loose whore who can’t even score with her half-virgin of a neighbour.”
My left eye twitches. “How am I a virgin?! Half-virgin doesn’t even make sense.”
“It does though. I’m the teacher here, so if I say a word makes sense, it does.”
“Right, right…”
“You never bring girls home though.”
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
“I did today.”
“But you’re not going to do anything with her.”
“…no.”
“Hah-HA!! Told you.”
“I’ll tell you that I get plenty of sex, thank you very much.”
You mean getting raped in the butt by village girls?
Shut up, that technically counts.
“Ah! With whom? That panther you call a cat?”
“McLeon is a male, so I’ll have to say ‘no’.”
“So you would do it with a female cat?”
“I won’t say any more without the presence of my lawyer,” I reply, my face and tone dead serious.
She looks at me blankly, then explodes in drunken laughter. “Hahahahahahahaha-ha-ha-hoooo…” She wipes tears at the corner of her eyes. “You always make me laugh,” she sobs, going back to depressed in a heartbeat.
I sigh. “That’s what silly little brothers do for their immoral big sisters.”
“Wouldn’t you be my lover instead?”
“I think we both know that would be a bad idea. We’d end up broke and/or dead in a ditch somewhere in less than a month.”
“Sex friend, then?”
“While that sounds extremely tempting—it does really,” I quickly add when her face turns gloomier. “I know myself enough to know I’d get possessive if we do it often—and don’t tell me we’d only do it once in a while. Even now you throw yourself at me every time we see each other.”
She pouts cutely but doesn’t deny anything I say.
“Can’t we just be normal friends and neighbours?”
She scoffs. “Friendship between men and women is just a myth invented by the depressed denizens of the friendzone.”
Sounds about right.
Nobody asked you for input.
“Well, then think of me as that weird gay friend girls love to have.”
“That’s so cliché. You’re not even gay.”
“Clichés come from somewhere. And I’m not gay, I’m a lesbian.”
“…wha…whathever. Hey. I’ve fucked gay men before, you know?”
It’s my turn to laugh. Reflexively, I pat her head. “I’m sure no man can resist you if you pull out your A game.”
“You’re resisting just fine.”
“It’s because I’m aware of your praying mantis ways.” I smile. “But stop beating about the bush—”
“You know a bush that would like some beating?”
She smirks impishly, and I respond with a scolding frown.
“Mary…”
She looks away, facing the wall, and her smile drops. I wait.
Eventually, she sighs.
“I got a call from my mother.”
“…yes?”
She’s going to need to give me more than that. I have no clue why this would have her down in the dumps. She never talks about her mother, or her father…or much about her, really. When she isn’t trying to jump my bone, we usually talk about movies, music—what’s popular really. Casual stuff.
She turns around underneath the cover, looking in my direction.
“She’s just a mean old bitch who only remembers she has a daughter when her latest boy-toy ditched her for someone younger and less bitchy, and she’s out of money. I refused to give her one cent, of course. I can barely manage to make ends meet myself. So, she spends an hour insulting me, and I’m always a mess afterwards, and I know I should just hang up on the bitch, but she is my mum, you know?”
I do. Mothers have a strange power over their offspring that makes you listen to them even if you think all they are saying is nonsense. I love my mum, but hell if she isn’t the scariest being on Earth.
I stay silent. I could retort some platitudes, but they wouldn’t sound sincere. I just wait for her to continue speaking.
“It’s just… She’s an old drunk, who knows only how to fuck around and who can’t keep a job for the life of her. I hate her so much, but…” She chokes a sob. “When she says I’m going to end up just like her, there’s nothing I can throw back. You’ve seen me. I know she’s right. You think so too, I know.”
Her teary eyes meet mine, and I have nothing to say either.
What? Am I supposed to lie? She is a drunk who mostly fucks around and has gotten fired more times than I can count.
Well, that said, I can’t stand seeing her so depressed. I’m a big marshmallow on the inside, and she might be clingy and annoying, and I haven’t known her for that long, but she’s still one of my few friends.
I drag myself closer, take her into my arms and slowly stroke her hair. She’s making a mess out of my tee-shirt, but I really couldn’t care less. For some reason, Dorothy’s face pops up in my mind again. I did the same for her once, didn’t I?
“You won’t end up like her.”
“But—”
“Shhh. You won’t end up like your mother because, even if you’re a crazy drunk and a slut who can’t keep a job—”
“Geee. Thanks,” she sneers into my shoulder, but I can hear a small chuckle in her tone.
“Let me finish. Even if you’re a bit of a lost cause, you won’t become like your mother because you are a good person.”
“……”
“……”
“…That’s it?”
“Yep.” I nod as if I’d just revealed a deep fundamental truth. “True, you’re a pain. But you’ve helped me out when I settled here and you’ve been a great neighbour since—discounting night-time disturbances.”
“I was trying to get in your pants.”
It’s my turn to laugh. “Well, it’s really not me who’s going to throw you the stone because your kindness was interested. I mean, have you met me? Just because you hope for a return on investment doesn’t make the act any less nice. And just because others want you to feel bad about not being some kind of selfless Mother Teresa, doesn’t mean you should.”
“…Who’s Mother Teresa?”
“Sorry, old reference. Never mind. What’s important is that just because you have your own agenda when helping out doesn’t make you a bad person. It’s not who you are underneath, it’s what you do that defines you.”
“Batman?”
“That one you get, uh?” I chuckle. “You’re a good person, Mary, no matter how slutty you are. Trust me, I’m a selfish ass, and yet my friends love me.”
“You are indeed a selfish ass.”
“Geee. Thanks,” I roll my eyes in a crappy imitation. “Alright, let us both agree we both are selfish asses and leave it at that.”
She snuggles deeper into my embrace. “Mmmh. You do love my ass.”
“It’s a rather nice ass, yes. But more in the way a red-sided garter snake is beautiful. It’s a kind of beauty best admired from afar if you don’t want to get poisoned.”
“Hahaha. Afraid of my fangs, Nicky?”
“Terrified,” I reply, deadpan.
She chuckles again, but now she sounds sleepy. I lower her down on her pillows and bring the cover to her chin, tucking her in like a little girl.
“You know, I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you start playing UT?”
“Mmmh?” She turns and burrows deeper into her bed, her eyes closing. “That virtual game *yawn* thing you always talk about?”
“That, yes. In there, you can act as depraved as you want, hook up with random guys and get dead drunk. Then you log out and feel none of the side-effects. The realism is so good, you wouldn’t notice the difference. And times goes four times faster in the game, which means four times as much time for mindless fun!”
“… It… mmmh… does sound attractive. But I can’t afford it.”
“I think I have a solution to that. You’d have to pay the game fee, but I won a free pod a couple months back. I never claimed the prize, but I’m sure I still can.” If I can get my hands on the mail. I hope I didn’t delete it by mistake.
“Mmmh… You’d do that… for me?”
“Sure. What are not-sex-friends for? And my other not-sex-friends say I’m crazy and have no sense of money.”
“Haha…ha… You’re… *yawn* You’re funny…” Her breathing gradually settles into a low and steady rhythm.
After a couple minutes watching her sleep, I finally stand up and discreetly move to the door.
“Nick?”
I pause and look back. Not asleep, then?
“Yes?”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
I leave the room with a smile.
That smile turns upside down as soon as I see the state of Mary’s apartment. Empty beer bottles are scattered on the floor. In the living room, the coffee table is covered in the looted cadavers of junk food boxes and cups. Clothes are hanging randomly on diverse pieces of furniture. I pick up a frilly pink panty from a cupboard and draw a finger on a shelf. It comes out blackened with dust.
“Ugh… Mary…” I shake my head, then start picking up the clothes from around the room… then continue moving around the apartment.
Arms full of clothes, some oozing smells I don’t want to know the origin of, I step into the utility room, and dump everything in a basket.
“Alright, that’ll do.” I turn around and am about to step out, but I stop. A grimace distorts my face. I stand in place for a couple second, swaying indecisively. “Oh, bloody pumpkin lords.”
With a grunt, I spin back around and start separating white clothes and colours. That done, I dump all the colours in the washing machine, along with some anti-bleaching agent and set up a cold-water cycle. Not the best solution, but really, who gets so back up on their laundry?
Ridiculous.
Not to mention filthy.
I shiver at the thought of whatever might be developing in this apartment. And people have sex in this place. They might actually be safer naked on the hallway floor. In fact, no wonder Mary throws men out naked. Even I would get discouraged looking for a specific piece of clothing in this mess. And I’m pretty sure those boxers I just saw don’t belong to her. Her initials aren’t DT.
I watch the clothes spin inside the washing machine for a moment, then nod. “Alright. I shouldn’t let Eva wait for too long. That girl will get the wrong idea.” I walk back through the apartment… then stop again at the door. My nose crunches up. There is some kind of unpleasant smell. It’s coming from the living room.
Right, the fast-food carnage.
Well… it’s not my problem...
…but…
“Ughhhh!”
Darn it!
Where does she put her bin bags?
* * *
When I eventually leave Mary’s apartment, it’s so sparkly clean that it could be used as an ad. For a rushed job done in barely above one hour, that’s pretty good, If I may say so myself.
I’m quite proud of the result.
…
……
………
Oh, gods. I’m turning into a housewife!
Can hormones do that?!
I don’t think that’s how it works… And you’re not even really taking any hormones. It’s all simulated in the game. All you have so far are headaches. You’ve just always been a neat freak.
Am not! Have you seen my home? It’s a mess.
But it’s a very clean and organised mess.
…Ugh!
I can say nothing to that!
But I don’t get how people can live in filth! There are germs, and…stuff!! Real life isn’t a game! You can get seriously sick and people don’t come back from the dead every four days! Plus, if you know where everything is, you don’t lose time looking for stuff and you have more time to laze around!
Hey, I’m not judging. I think you were really cute vacuuming with that little pink apron.
………It’s not proper cleaning if you don’t wear the proper clothes.
I’m not judging.
………………Mary didn’t have any other apron.
Again, not judging. Though I will say it’s a shame you didn’t fit in the whole French maid outfit.
I shiver.
Please spare me that nightmarish thought.
…although…as Vicky…
I’m feeling a strange mix of depressed and aroused when I finally step through my door.
“Eva?” I call out as I take off my shoes. “Sorry, I took so long. Mary wasn’t feeling well and I… I ended up cleaning her whole apartment for some reason.”
You really think she will buy that?
Well, it’s not my fault the truth is weird.
It usually is with you. Oh, well. She’ll get used to it if she keeps hanging out with you, I suppose.
Let’s hope.
Hearing no response, I call out again. “Eva?”
Still only silence.
Frowning, I make my way down the hallway, peeking in each of the rooms.
I eventually find her in the living room, asleep on the coach and…using McLeon as a body pillow?
Dafuq?
The strangest thing is, the monstrous scarred one-eyed cat, who usually acts like strangers are some kind of deadly disease he needs to stay as far away from as possible, is actually purring in her arms.
…Eh.
I feel oddly jealous about that. I’ve been taking care of that ungrateful fat feline for months, and he’s never been that affectionate with me.
I think he just surrendered to the apex predator.
...Eva?
I get that feeling somehow.
Eh.
She does wield a mean plastic fork.
I stand there with a puzzled expression for a minute, then shrug and move to the kitchen.
Alright, what can I make with whatever’s in the fridge?
I have onions, aubergines, yoghurt, courgettes, yellow peppers, butter, eggs, salad… one-half of a banana for some strange reason, ripe tomatoes, a lemon… OJ, purple stuff, soda ...Sunny D! …What’s this, a commercial? What’s even in that purple—Oh, right, that’s the smoothie I made with raspberries and blackberries…and that’s also where the other half of that banana went. Glad we could solve that mystery so fast.
But there’s a depressing lack of meat in there…err...
Ratatouille?
Mmmh… Do I have garlic somewhere?
“Mmmh~ Mmmh~ Mmmmmh~”
Waltzing around the kitchen, I grab the lab coat I use as a substitute apron and pop in the ear-pods of my music player into my ears. I’m in the mood from some crappy pop music. Sometimes, all you need is a good beat and a pretty voice and deep lyrics be damned. The outraged poet in me can take an evening off.
What’s this? Shakira? Who…oh. Damn this is dated. 2001? Mum wasn’t even born back then. Catchy enough, though.
I finish prepping the ingredients: two red onions, four cloves of garlic, two aubergines, three courgettes, three of the yellow peppers, six tomatoes, half of a bunch of fresh basil, some olive oil I found in a cupboard, a few sprigs of fresh thyme, a 400g tin of quality plum tomatoes and one tablespoon balsamic vinegar. Oh, and half a lemon. For the zest.
I peel the onions and garlic—
And cry like a little bitch.
Shut up. It’s a natural reaction.
Then I cut the onions into wedges and slice the garlic. Trim the aubergines and courgettes, deseed the peppers and chop into—check the recipe online—2.5cm chunks. Hey. The Devil’s in the details, and I like a little taste of hell in my food.
Then you roughly chop the tomatoes.
Not everything needs precision, dear me.
Pick the basil leaves and set aside, then finely slice the stalks.
Heat two tablespoons of oil in a large saucepan—DAMN YOU SAUCEPAN!!—over a medium heat, add the chopped aubergines, courgettes and peppers. Better to do this in batches. And fry the whole for around 5 minutes…or “until golden and softened, but not cooked through”.
Hmmm… What’s that supposed to mean, recipe-san? I’m a tech student, not a chef apprentice! How can you cook something “until not cooked”? Make sense, dammit!
…5 minutes it is.
I read the next line.
“Spoon the cooked veg into a large bowl.”
I thought they shouldn’t be cooked!!!
“This makes no sense!!” I throw my hands up, then scramble to catch the timer. The little heart emoji looks at me accusingly. “Sorry, timer-chan.”
To the pan, add the onion, garlic, basil stalks and thyme leaves with another drizzle of oil, “if needed.” How do I know if…ugh. Never mind. Fry for 10 to 15 minutes…“or until softened and golden.”
…………I think I should just order pizza next time.
I return the cooked veg to the pan and stir in the fresh and tinned tomatoes, the balsamic and a good pinch of sea salt and black pepper. I do a little dance while I mix. I don’t have a clue what the singer is saying—I don’t speak Spanish—but it’s damn hard to stay still to that rhythm.
Between whistles, I keep up with the recipe on my phone. “Break up the tomatoes with the back of a spoon. SPOOON!! I need a spoon… spoon… spoon… Ver arrr you spoon? Ah! Ah. Da bist du, du frecher Löffel. Okay, next… cover the pan and simmer over a low heat for 30 to 35 minutes… OR… until… reduced, sticky and sweet—STOP USING WEIRD SUBJECTIVE INSTRUCTIONS!! DAMN YOU TO HELL, RATATOU—”
“Err… Excuse me?”
I freeze.
Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight. She was there.
Hahahahaha…
I completely forgot.
How long as she been there?
How much as she seen?
How deep a hole do I need to dig to hide my shame?
You have no shame.
Oh? Right. I was afraid there for a moment.
Then why do I feel like my face is stuck in a heater?
Like a rusted animatronic, I pivot my head with a cramped smile plastered on my face. Eva is standing in the doorway to my kitchen. She’s not looking in my direction, staring intently at the floor again. I know it’s because of her phobia, but this time I feel like she’s ashamed for me too.
………………She’s seen enough.
Note to self: NEVER twerk in the kitchen, ever, again.
Never.
Oh, and McLeon’s there too, sitting on the floor beside her like a good little soldier. Why do I have the impression that cat wants to face-paw? Please stop looking at me like that. I don’t want your pity! Traitor!
“Err…yes?” My vocal cords feel stuck. I think I’m going to puke blood.
“I was wondering if I could use your bathroom to take a shower.”
“Oh…yeah. Sure. Sure.”
Silence falls again. And neither of us has moved.
Awkwaaaard.
Fiddling with a ladle, I try to solve that problem. “Err…Are you…alright, being in a man’s home…and all that? Is there…anything I can do to help?”
Well, much better! That didn’t sound awkward at all.
At…all.
Ugh.
“…no, I’m fine. More or less. You have a very… unique… home.”
“Yeah… I did most of it myself… Well, I had help for the bathroom… err… You’re sure you’re alright?”
She nods. “It’s…as long as I don’t look at them in the face, I can bear. It’s a…visual thing.”
‘Them’, uh? Ouch.
“Uhu…”
“Yeah…”
“……”
“……”
Why aren’t you moving!!!
“Is there… anything else?”
“Oh. No, I’ll… just go then.”
“Yeah. Food will be ready in about half an hour. I guess you’ll want to eat alone in the guest room?”
“Yeah... sorry.”
“No, no, it’s alright.”
“Thanks.”
“Okay.”
“……”
“……”
“………”
“………”
“Go take that shower. Now. You’re making me nervous.”
“O-Okay!”
She spins on her heels and dashes out of the kitchen.
…
……
………
I really can decide if she’s deadly cute or unbelievably creepy.
A little bit of both?
A lot of both.
Alright… After the 30-35 minutes of simmering, tear in the basil leaves, finely grate in the lemon zest and adjust the seasoning…
“…if needed.”
Zaqesdghyoçmùbezjezfzjfezbfjezbfjjjlfnezmjnfezjnefnzkmfzkijnk!!!!!!
*crrraink!*
……ah. The timer.
Bad ladle.
Bad.
* * * * *