#→ thread move (beta editor)

[helenaus]

[ @kallistcs / cont. from here ]

Her words were useless. 

After ten years, it didn’t surprise her anymore. She could read the response through his silence when he looked away from her. The way he covered his mouth with a tremulous hand revealed more than anything he could have said. A decade of war had not made him tougher, nor had this marriage taken away his softness–and all the worse it was for Paris. The more he clung to it, the more he’d suffer.  Yet Helen stood quiet and dignified on her spot, watching her Trojan husband struggle through his sobs to regain his speech, observing his every move with a studious glance.

She answered him only with her eyes until he was done. Her knowing stare read through his tears and his denial, facing those sides of Paris that he himself would not dare to look into. His speech was foolish, but he was not. More than mere grief over the loss of a brother, the death of Hektor had come as a bitter reminder of a harsh truth from which he’d been flinching for a long time. Troy was doomed, but they’d known it since the very first day. Paris refused to admit it, but he himself had told her of Aphrodite’s promise and the prophecy in his birth–it was only a matter of time before the city would fall. He could pretend not to know this, but some part of him did. 

“There is no sooner, Paris”, she told him, ever so stoic. You cannot hide from the cut of Atropos like you hid from the cut of Menelaus' spear. “There is no shouldn’t”. The temptation behind his thinking was obvious. It was sweet to imagine that there might have been a different reality where his brother wouldn’t have had to die the way that he did; a world where Paris could rely on safety and comfort to sustain his poin of view. Tempting… and pointless. There was no such reality - and the indulgence of this kind of thought was what had brought him back to their chambers when he should have been dueling her other husband, as it now left him clueless on how to deal with his grief over Hektor.

There was only one way, but he wouldn’t like it.

“Only blood can pay for blood. Not tears. And this—”, she told him, pressing one foot harder against the shards to make a point. A faint tension on her jaw was the only glimpse of pain that crossed her face—otherwise her eyes and her posture showed only strength and fierceness. “---is how royalty bleeds.”

[extasiie]

@frxncaise // continued.

“I can imagine it. Well you simply must find a moment to see the sights on your own terms. It is not Paris, but it is charming in its own way,” he says, his eyes following the sweep of the dancers through the center of the room. “How long are you to stay with us in Moscow? I have the vague idea your father is in politics, isn’t that so? Well I don’t know a thing about all that and I don’t see much point in learning, but I do wonder what can he possibly be up to here, things being how they are with the war they tell us is still going on, somewhere.” Anatole Kuragin spoke of war as he might speak of the weather. How could he do otherwise, when it meant so little to him and his life here in the city? Truth be told, he never thought of it, and only did so now because he was confronted with the daughter of the French ambassador. If any of that nonsense with Napoleon were ever going to interest him, it would certainly be in proximity to a pretty, young French girl.

[heavyweighthappy]

@arandomnerdsrp358​

The more she watched him fumble, the more she thought that he was adorable.

“I am going to be completely honest with you, if it’s not art class I dont really care. Nothing keeps my interest quite like art class. Do you like history?”

“I-- yeah, I mean, yeah, generally.” Harold gave a shrug, “People are interesting. Events.” Boy, was he sounding like some dumb big jock. Not that he even was, technically, yet, though his dad wanted him to try out for football when the season came.

“What kind of art do you like?” Harold knew even less about art, but if May was interested then he wouldn’t mind listening to her.

[explodcor]

OOC: Due to legacy editor being deleted, any drafts I have left to do (which is A LOT) will be moved into the new editing format with a link back to previous replies. As much as I'd LOVE to keep all the threads on the same thread (so mutuals can re-read from one place), reblogging from those original legacy editor posts will break code in the new editor. It does a lot of stupid shit like double posts the same post twice or gives a pop-up each time I reblog.

[dhampiravidi]

ronnie x jasmine/artemis/the traitor

continued from here (moved to comply w/Beta editor):

It was like a work conference for organized crime. There were maybe fifteen people inside the hotel's largest event room, all dressed in some kind of business casual or formal wear. They represented different "families", each characterized by their members' ethnicity and the territory they claimed within the United States. But Jas knew that they all had one thing in common: they were going to die in the next ten minutes, courtesy of her. She just needed her plan to go smoothly.

Common sense said she couldn't just walk in, pull out a semi, and start shooting--there were innocent waiters scattered about the room, offering amuse-bouches, petits fours, and generous flutes of champagne. Thankfully, she knew that the waiters would be shooed away at some point because she'd managed to get a program for the event. Apparently, the hotel had requested some kind of itinerary, presumably so they could give their guests all the necessary amenities, blah, blah, blah. Jasmine doubted the hotel would turn down the kind of money that the crime lords could pool together. People always turned a blind eye whenever money was involved. The only unknown was how much they felt their services were worth.

She was waiting a building over, sniper equipment ready. Close combat was more efficient in her opinion, since it almost guaranteed executions. The only challenging part of that scenario was getting away, and half the time that was made easy because she already had to carve a path to her target in the first place. But when it came to taking out multiple targets at long range, there was always the possibility that the enemy's entourage could and would trace her shots back to where she was set up. Once they did that, Jas only had about five minutes, tops, before she was caught. One step at a time. She'd been in worse situations and gotten out alive.

Half a second after the last waiter left the room, Jas swept the room using her laser sight, found her first target, and started shooting. The first shot narrowly missed, because the asshole had to bend over for something. Thankfully, no one seemed to notice. So she lined up the shot again and pulled the trigger. While her first target was staggering, about to fall over, Jasmine looked for the next face she'd memorized and took out two more scumbags before anyone at the little event even tried to take cover. Sometimes it was hard not to take a certain pleasure in what she did. Yes, she was doing the world a service, but her job wasn't something she'd encourage kids to do. She had dedicated her life to making the world a better place, the only way she knew how. There wasn't any going back, and there certainly wasn't a happy ending in store for her...

Four left.

She played Chicken (more like Idiot) with one target, finding the woman's head to line up the shot, then shooting far away from her so she'd think she was safe. Three left. Jas could do this. She could go back to her hidey-hole without a scratch. Maybe, depending on how much energy she had to put on a decent disguise (her sniping outfit didn't exactly scream "casual, typical young woman in her 30s"), Jas could even get Starbucks, or something interesting from one of the small places near the apartment she was squatting. She'd have to beware of the many CCTV cams in the area, but that was a given. In the modern day, anyone could be found. Even though she had been caught couple times, and tortured, she refused to give up. So she just had to be careful. Luck wasn't a thing when your parents had been killed in front of you.

[sharp-teeth-and-archived]

( C.ullen R.utherford ; continued )

        𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐂𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞, noticing how his fingers flexed instinctively in search of his sword. For something to grab onto. He was still wary around Roland, watching every movement and turn to make sure he wasn’t adding any additional ingredients with his magic usage, but slowly by slowly, he eased up around him. He spoke vaguely of his time in the Circle Tower, growing uncomfortable when he realized that this memory could resurface something in Roland as well, that he held his tongue. In his own time, Cullen didn’t like to think of Lake Calenhad, or anything involving his Templar days other than the lessons he had in combat. But he had to think of it. He had to remember it and he couldn’t scrub it from his memory. 

        He sighed out a breath when Roland finally spoke, shifting the topic to a more comfortable subject. He could feel his chest expand from the comfort of an easy question. Yet, he didn’t know the definite answer to it.

        His eyes darted to the cabinets. ❝ I would believe so, ❞ he answered as simply as he could, not denying or agreeing to it. He swore he could remember one of the bakers adding peanut butter to a dish, but he could be mistaking one ingredient for another in his hazy memory. ❝ Try the cabinet there. ❞ He finally lifted a hand and gestured towards the cabinet at the end. ❝ Josephine has mentioned Seheron in passing, yes. The baker has used peanut butter before. ❞

        His voice softened its restraint when Roland asked about his own baking experiences. A smile curled at the edge of his lips and he tilted his head slightly. ❝ Maker, no, ❞ a laugh escaped between his lips. ❝ My sister was allergic to peanuts. My mother preferred to make a feast when she baked, so no ingredients were wasted. ❞ That meant pies, cakes, and cookies that accompanied dinner. His mother had made candies before when she had little to work with, but she preferred to make grand meals that would last for weeks. 

        His eyes flickered down to his hands again and he finally moved a step, opening the cabinet he referenced. Before his eyes spotted the small tin of peanuts, he could smell it and it was almost foreign to him. ❝ Here, ❞ he grabbed a hold of the circled tin and set it on the counter. ❝ Would that be enough? ❞

@eritvita

[generalzelgius]

@unforestalledreturn - moved from here:

          Amidst all of General Zelgius' seriousness and stoicism, there was the ability to adapt to various situations, even those he was not used to in the slightest. He had a way with his words, motions, and a knack for 'going with the flow' as a last resort when no preparations could've been made. Sure, that didn't mean he was entirely comfortable though as this was way out of his territory of behavior, but yet, something inside of him was having fun. It could've been Genesis' carefree attitude and how easy it was for him to be this flirtatious which was starting to rub off on him. He wasn't quite sure if this was a good thing or not.

          But then again, he had somehow managed to stun Genesis into silence, which greatly amused him. After all, the general did crave power, and to be in control at all times. Again, it was just a comfort thing, not necessarily meant to be malicious. The spread of crimson slowly starting to color Genesis' cheeks did not go unnoticed, however, making his following gestures absolutely comical, if not cute. Was he actually managing to break down Genesis' confident flirtatious nature ? Fascinating. He must really be interested in him.

          The cut of meat, 'mistakenly', aimed at the corner of Zelgius' mouth was tactfully scooped into it, him turning his head at an angle to get all of it inside, the juice of the meat once more dripping from the corners of his lips. The only difference from last time is that his tongue did not flicker out, instead turning expectedly to Genesis, emerald hues gazing down at his partner's supple lips.

          ❛ Hmm, this is your mistake for being so careless, you should fix it then.   ❜ His tone was far from demanding, but rather one of persuasion.

[wcnka]

continued from here - @songs-and-stitches

"That is kind," Willy nodded, his smile so wide that it caused a happy little ache in his cheeks. "So very kind." It was rare for a stranger to have taken notice of him in that way, then made it their mission to deliver a present that they'd purchased using their own money. Willy was completely over the moon with it.

"I'm glad I was out and about today!" Although, he liked to explore most days, so they probably would have ran into each other sooner or later. "Please, let me introduce myself. I'm Willy Wonka and I accept your gift most graciously." There was a tip of the hat and a bow as his tailcoat fluttered behind him.

[talesofourworlds]

(ooc: Hehehehe this is the lowest my draft count has been in ages.)

[skidrowflorist]

@fabricwrapped / continued.

“Mush-nik,” she said, overemphasizing the sounds, “Like in push. And my name’s Audrey. It’s us two and Seymour.” She pointed over her shoulder toward an unmarked door leading to the basement, though Seymour wasn’t in just now. “We all do our different parts to keep things runnin’.” 

Funny sorta customer. Most folks didn’t care to ask her name, let alone worry about how they pronounce Mr. Mushnik’s. But then, most folks didn’t shop here anyhow. It hardly cost Audrey anything to be friendly, so she was willing enough to make small talk. The more the customer — Evelyn — said, the more interesting she got. That new-apartment excitement (and a budget for decoration) weren’t exactly Skid Row hallmarks. Most folks were just glad to have their crumbling little roof over their heads, never mind its looks. But again, most folks.... And yet, the general rule didn't always hold. Audrey, for one, did everything she could to make her own little hole in the wall feel beautiful. Audrey couldn’t help wondering where this woman came from, and how she didn’t realize the on-its-face absurdity of buying flowers for a Skid Row apartment, the absurdity of this whole store. Audrey’s eyes slipped once again over Evelyn, noting again the classy ensemble. Just what kind of gal was she...?

“If you’ve got a blue vase, let’s pull some yellows. They suit each other real nice. I saw you looking at the roses. Classics, always. They usually come in dozens, but we can do 'em in bigger or smaller bunches. If you’re looking for the most bloom on a budget, we could do some gladiolas. ... Are you on a budget?” It’s a question that would usually go without asking, but Audrey’s curious now, and trying to make out just what the situation is with this woman. She extends a hand to gesture toward gladiola stalks dotted in robust blooms all up a single, slightly slumping stem, but her eyes stay on Evelyn, trying to read her expression at the mention of money.

[bladedwoe]

( Astrid ; continued )

        𝐀𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐄𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐫. Whatever it was that conflicted her--the job itself or her role in this sanctuary--Astrid was determined to find out. Her gaze steadied on her, flickering over her body language, her expression, and any hint of what she was hiding. 

        She said she understood, but did she?

        Astrid wasn’t going to hand over a contract to a person she was starting to doubt, that could be disastrous for the Dark Brotherhood. Her question only stirred her doubt.

        ❝ What bothers me? The contracts? The killing? ❞ It was laughable. Almost. When it came to murder, Astrid sometimes regretted not learning about it sooner. If she learned how much she enjoyed it at a younger age, she would have joined the Dark Brotherhood earlier, rising to leadership at perhaps a quicker pace or holding onto it for longer than she has now. But Astrid is not one to toy with guilt or regret, it was meaningless when the path went forward, not backward. Holding onto notions such as guilt, regret, or distaste limits an individual, the same could be said for her job. 

        ❝ Does it bother you, Elayne, what our family partakes in? Or have you accepted it? ❞

@agoldenlily

[16hitthunder]

@pktearsoftazmily continued from [x]

"I'm so glad to heard that you're friends with Luc!" Claus had smiled at Ness, and accidentally showed off razor sharp teeth. He rather quickly covered his mouth when he realized this.

"It's...really good that Lucas has been able to make friends." Claus said once he had finally uncovered his mouth. There was still a smile, just that it was much smaller. "He is a very sweet person. He's always been the gentle twin."

As he listened to Ness, Claus nodded at him. Yeah, that made sense. He was fully aware of how protective his little brother was.

"I hope that he's doin' okay." He finally decided to say.

[skullreaped]

  Most of what she says, which he's almost certain was definitely in under a minute with how fast she speaks, goes entirely over his head but the important bits—Shibuya about to be erased like Shinjuku, Neku somehow still being in the erased Shinjuku, and Neku sent her—he manages to catch.

  Every impulse in him wants to say she's full of shit, that he won't fall for her lies a second time. Since when does she care what makes Phones happy? But another, louder part of him desperately wants to believe her. Because even if believing her means acknowledging that there's something even bigger at play here—which, unfortunately, makes sense—it also means that she's telling the truth about Neku and not only is it the only lead he has on Neku, it's also the first bit of hope he's had in a long while.

  The squirrel noise, settled atop his head after being displaced from his shoulder when he'd slipped out of his hoodie to escape the shrieking pink demon, reaches down and gently pats his cheek with a graffiti-claw as if to reassure him he's making the right decision. Beat sighs, resigned. Even if everything she's said about Neku is a lie—and he desperately wants to hope it's not—he can't just ignore a threat to Shibuya. Not after everything they went through in the Long Game. Not after everything Neku did to save the city. He can't let that go to waste. So even if she's just using Neku's name to get his attention, for whatever fucking reason she wants it for, he'll help her out—at the very least to verify the threat she's claiming. Still, he has to know:

  ❝ You talk a lotta shit. How do I know you ain't just talkin' outta your ass now, too? You got proof Neku's okay? ❞

skullreaped​:

          The tug on the back of his hoodie pulls the hood from his head and has him pausing in his steps, if only to try and swat her hands off of him behind his back.   ( ❛ Leggo, yo! ❜ )   He tries to keep moving until she digs in her heels, literally and figuratively with the direct jab at his soft heart — at which point he slides his arms out of the sweater, wings passing through the fabric like they aren’t even there, allowing gravity to do what it does best. Beat turns to her, reaching down and snatching the sweater back out of her hands.   ( ❛ Gimme dat. ❜ )

          His friends. Neku and his sister. The entire reason he’s back in this damn Game to begin with. There’s always a chance she’s lying. And, hell, it’s a pretty damn high chance if their last encounter is anything to go off of.   ( An entire fake city filled with fake people; a gunshot echoes in his memory. )   … But a small, hopeful voice in the back of his mind also nags at him: what if she isn’t? He sighs and tugs his mask off.

          ❛ You got two minutes, Pixie Chick. Then I walk. ❜     Sweater draped over one, he crosses bare arms over his chest.     ❛ Start talkin’. ❜

When Beat pulls himself out of his jacket Coco finds her footing failing her, gravity shoving her back as she pulls and pushing her straight onto her butt. The poof of her dress does little to cushion her fall. If anything the plastic wire of her crinoline that’s meant to keep the poof of her dress worsens the fall by digging into her hip. She lets go of the jacket when he snatches it back but uses the opportunity to stick her tongue out at him like a spoiled child. All she can think is how his help had better be worth it for all this trouble she was going through.

“What are you a teacher? No wonder you are literally the worst.” A good waste way to waste the time she’s been so graciously given. But she simply must make a dig at him while she has the opportunity. She doesn’t even waste her time standing up, instead she sits up a bit so her crinoline will stop digging into her and takes a deep breath in. Immediately she gets to talking practically talking a mile a minute.

“Okay so like Shibuya is literally on the verge of erasure. It’s already happened once with Shinjuku and caused my best friend in the entire universe to lose her brother and also her home and like most everything important to her. And if I catch the guy who did this I will literally break every bone in his fucking body then erase him from everything ever myself!” Another pause as she takes a deep breath through her nose. This time for calming purposes. “But like that’s not why I’m talking to you. Neku is trapped in the erased Shinjuku right now, don’t worry he’s totes okay. He sent me to find you cause he swore you would help. I don’t believe him on that but like whatever, long as he’s happy. So we need to find a way to get Neku outta Shinjuku so he can help save Shibuya and stop the destruction or else legit everyone here is gonna be erased forever. The reason we need him is cause the guy who hurt my bestie is uber powerful and Neku himself is uber powerful. So like he should be able to fight this guy, right? Now is this important enough for ya or am I gonna have to let Neku down?”

[sharp-teeth-and-archived]

( Varric Tethras ; continued )

        ❝ Are you sure? Not even Curly? ❞ he asks with a chuckle and a hint of surprise in his voice. Well, Varric didn’t think he was absolutely hideous to look upon, he had some desirable traits that attracted some, but to be the only one Roland had his eyes on? Varric was surprised, to say the least. ❝ Or Blackwall, if that's your fancy. ❞

        What Varric could agree upon was a time out with friends was never any wasted time. The way he spoke so admirably and delightfully about his companions reminded him of his own friends back in Kirkwall, or wherever they scattered to these days. They didn’t spend their time in theaters, no, rather in the Hanged Man most nights, speaking their own version of poetry. When he was around them, inspiration flowed like water. ❝ Seduce? ❞ he chuckled, not being able to stop himself from doing so, raising an eyebrow as he looked over at Roland. ❝ I think this is becoming less of an inspiration piece for my next book and more of an excuse to flirt with me. ❞

        Well, Roland did say that he was the only one he had been honored to woo, so go figure. His jest might be closer to the truth than he thought.

        Varric was intrigued by his words. It sounded fantastical and here Varric was, mulling in his mind on how he could mimic Roland’s voice for a character, just to intrigue the reader as much. A jester in a royal court? No, no, Roland deserved better than that. A bard, perhaps, might be more honorable. It might be more suitable as well. 

        He ran a hand through his hair, pushing back the blonde flyaways in his hair. ❝ Usually, I stick by the hearth in the throne room. I tend to dabble in my writing there if Cassandra isn’t trying to persuade me into writing another book. ❞ He crossed his arms and looked down, muttering to himself in a statement that was intended to be mirthful. ❝ Sometimes violence is included. ❞

@eritvita

[herukaizaa]

independent, minimalist roleplay blog for an interpretation of Yu-Gi-Oh! GX's Zane Truesdale / Marufuji Ryo. Lore and Headcanon-based, written by red.

This blog is semi-selective and unexclusive. That said, I’ll only follow fellow RP blogs; no personals.

I am over the age of 21 and therefore, may include mature content on this blog. Rest assured all of it will be properly tagged.

I don’t run on active times mostly; my timezone is +3 GMT and therefore, it is likely our interactions will not be immediate, mostly. Please keep that in mind.

This blog encourages crossover and multi-fandom am semi-selective with OCs. My main requirement is a solid about page so I can get an idea of who or what am I writing with.

I use the standard Tumblr Beta editor, but will cut my posts through an add-on. My preference is that mutual writing partners do the same.

Inbox always open, threads would have to be moved to a different post. I wouldn’t RP off ask forms!

I will answer only when available. Please be patient with me. Under the same notion, take your time with your replies! I realize we all have lives outside Tumblr, and I can't stress enough how important it is for me for my partners to feel comfortable with writing with me.

I am mutual-exclusive. This blog doesn't run full-time (as it is not my job) and therefore, I will only write with those who share a follow with me. That said --please don’t shy away! If you want to talk or have an idea for a thread we can have, feel absolutely free to contact me any way.

This blog is unaffiliated. As it is done just for fun, I keep my right to do what makes me personally, comfortable; including but not limited to declining certain plots, dropping threads (within notice), unfollowing and blocking.

I will take NO forms of OOC harassment; not against me, not on my dashboard. Respect your peers first off.

Standard RP rules apply: no godmodding, powerplay or metagaming. As battle is inevitable, let’s try to keep things fair.

I like shipping, but it must come with chemistry. I will never force a ship on anyone, so I request you don’t either. Regardless, I am still a shipper at heart.

The mun is NOT the muse. The muse may resort to despicable actions that the mun does not support or condone. However, the mun will also not restrain their muse for most. Per verse, Ryo's views can and have been twisted, and it would likely be reflected in roleplay.

[burakkumajishan]

black mag·ic

/ˌblak ˈmajik/

noun

magic involving the supposed invocation of evil spirits for evil purposes.

independent, minimalist roleplay blog for an interpretation of Yu-Gi-Oh!'s Dark Magician/Black Magician/Mahaad. Mixed Headcanon/Lore-based, written by red.

This blog is semi-selective and unexclusive. That said, I’ll only follow fellow RP blogs; no personals.

I am over the age of 21 and therefore, may include mature content on this blog. Rest assured all of it will be properly tagged.

I don’t run on active times mostly; my timezone is +3 GMT and therefore, it is likely our interactions will not be immediate, mostly. Please keep that in mind.

This blog encourages crossover and multi-fandom. The YGO fandom aside, I do want to explore other themes with this muse.

I am semi-selective with OCs. My main requirement is a solid about page so I can get an idea of who or what am I writing with.

I use the standard Tumblr Beta editor, but will cut my posts through an add-on. My preference is that mutual writing partners do the same.

Inbox always open, threads would have to be moved to a different post. I wouldn’t RP off ask forms!

I will answer only when available. Please be patient with me. Under the same notion, take your time with your replies! I realize we all have lives outside Tumblr, and I can't stress enough how important it is for me for my partners to feel comfortable with writing with me.

I am mutual-exclusive. This blog doesn't run full-time (as it is not my job) and therefore, I will only write with those who share a follow with me. That said --please don’t shy away! If you want to talk or have an idea for a thread we can have, feel absolutely free to contact me any way.

This blog is unaffiliated. As it is done just for fun, I keep my right to do what makes me personally, comfortable; including but not limited to declining certain plots, dropping threads (within notice), unfollowing and blocking.

I will take NO forms of OOC harassment; not against me, not on my dashboard. Respect your peers first off.

Standard RP rules apply: no godmodding, powerplay or metagaming. As battle is inevitable, let’s try to keep things fair.

I like shipping, but it must come with chemistry. I will never force a ship on anyone, so I request you don’t either. Regardless, I am still a shipper at heart.

For clarification, this muse does have their own deck and can participate actively in Duels - if it is ever plotted we get there.