#i think in epic terms so...

[druid-for-hire]

There's this sort of anthropomorphizing that inherently happens in language that really gets me sometimes. I'm still not over the terminology of "gravity assist," the technique where we launch satellites into the orbit of other planets so that we can build momentum via the astounding and literally astronomical strength of their gravitational forces, to "slingshot" them into the direction we need with a speed that we could never, ever, ever create ourselves. I mean, some of these slingshots easily get probes hurtling through space at tens of thousands of miles per hour. Wikipedia has a handy diagram of the Voyager 1 satellite doing such a thing.

"Gravity assist." "Slingshot." Of course, on a very basic and objective level, yes, we are taking advantage of forces generated by outside objects to specifically help in our goals. We're getting help from objects in the same way a river can power a mill. And of course we call it a "slingshot," because the motion is very similar (mentally at least; I can't be sure about the exact physics).

Plus, especially compared to the other sciences, the terminology for astrophysics is like, really straightforward. "Black hole?" Damn yeah it sure is. "Big bang?" It sure was. "Galactic cluster?" Buddy you're never gonna guess what this is. I think it's an effect of the fact that language is generally developed for life on earth and all the strange variances that happen on its surface, that applying it to something as alien and vast as space, general terms tend to suffice very well in a lot more places than, like... idk, botany.

But, like. "Gravity assist." I still can't get the notion out of my head that such language implies us receiving active help from our celestial neighbors. They come to our aid. We are working together. We are assisted. Jupiter and the other planets saw our little messengers coming from its pale blue molecular cousin, and we set up the physics just right, so that they could help us send them out to far stranger places than this, to tell us all about what they find out there.

We are assisted.

And there is no better way to illustrate my feelings on the matter than to just show you guys one of my favorite paintings, this 1973 NASA art by Rick Guidice to show the Pioneer probe doing this exact thing:

"... You, sent out beyond your recall, go to the limits of your longing. Embody me. ..."

Gravity assist.

[meowonaise]

hey guys have you heard of this new thing called "nekomura iroha on synthesizer v 2 ai"? well i sure havent.

[prismarts]

OKAY OKAY

HEAR ME OUT

HEAR ME OUT-

Epic the Musical inspired au where the Tales of Arcadia gang get their own patron gods-

[rosykims]

personally i hope they leave solas' romantic history as vague as possible mostly bc i genuinely dont think its relevant or neccesary at all and it just adds another layer of mess to a situation thats already messy enough as it is. but if they do go down that route i am desperately hoping they just reaffirm him being a canonically terrible boyfriend who's never held a stable relationship longer for like. idk. 20 years at best lol. i think that would do WONDERS for his character actually

[a-bottle-of-tyelenol]

the craziest thing is that I don’t even like the jetpack scene but you’d never be able to tell because I defend it so hard

I just think that me personally not liking it doesn’t suddenly make it an inherently bad choice for the story— a novel take I know

[blu00u]

This man........... he is so silly I had to draw him

(no bg I'm sleepy as hell and i don't wanna make a bg rn)

[werewolfdog]

This is the OC my love and I have been focusing on this past week with its project series and ngl, I'm really happy and proud with what we got so far!

M.un G.ae-b.yul was a feral child raised in a group of dogs, and then wolves when escaped from the hospital for the first time, before at age six, it was adopted into an abusive infamous clan of G.aeshin / Soulhound users who had leashed on dog spirits for their cruel benefits. G.ae-b.yul endured various forms of abuse from its clan until on a full moon when it was fourteen, its family disappeared, leaving behind only blood and bones. No one knew what happened to them and neither did G.ae-byul. G.ae-byul decided to leave human society and lived in the wilderness for four years until it was captured by a secret independent syndicate that studied and experimented on the supernatural beings. During its time at the laboratory, G.ae-b.yul learned it was a product of a L.ycanthrope and C.ynanthrope, being a rare specimen: L.yncyanthrope. When a full moon occurred— a blood moon— G.ae-b.yul transformed with greater power that could withstand the guards' grasps and slaughtered everyone in the syndicate. Old enough to become aware of the actions it committed across its' life, including with its murdered adoptive family, it ran from the location until the exhaustion took over it, only to wake up in a different side of the world where l.ycanthropic packs live. It found itself deep within the home of the Wild Bright that a legendary Leader once led— someone who was its l.ycanthropic father. Upon being given an offer from a wise Healer to join that was accepted for a reconnection with its true self-identity and heritages, G.ae-b.yul was deemed to be the grandest outcast of the l.ycanthropic society, especially for its relation to the S.oulhound users lineage. Although bearing exceptional skills in healing and endurance with a great star borne heart, it has been gradually becoming a brighter addition before it is allowed to stay on two sides of the world: One in humanity and another in monstrosity.

[valec275]

Congratulations to The Underworld for being the first song in Epic to make me bawl my eyes out!!

[scarletfasinera]

I need to come back to the real world (aka stop being asocial)

[vulpinesaint]

sorry thinking about how i wrote an entirely lovecraft themed poem about transgenderism for my beginning creative writing class last semester and one single person besides the professor in that room full of english majors recognized that it was referencing lovecraft. i do not mean this in a way that shames people for not having read stuff or for not having the means to read stuff. but oh my god guys does anyone who is getting a higher level education in literature even look at the literary sources of common phenomena in media nowadays

[simcardiac-arrested]

What are thy thoughts and ideas on de NS. What are his meatgrinders?

i was thinking that since i don’t have any characters that would fit Eyes or Jean, what if like. sep and wayback used to be each other’s partners before. and then some Shidt happened

[oakthefrog]

love using my puter, but everytime i scroll w/ a mouse my finger bends backwards and aches after like 20 mins and my brain demands me to play bloxburg for over 2 hours straight :[

[elvis-official]

FAQ:

Q: Woah mama (or any variation herein)

A: Yeah

Q: Why is this so long? Add a read more!

A: Then people won't read it

Q: Do people really read the FAQ?

A: I hope so!

Q: What are your pronouns?

A: He/him for Elvis, she/her for the mod

Q: Why do you say "Woah mama" so much?

A: Woah mama they put me in the orb / the scary planet. And Johnny Bravo

Q: Where have you been?

A: Lost in the mojave desert

Q: What about the island?

A: No, it was the desert

Q: What about Mars?

A: No, it was the desert

Q: I thought you died?

A: I got better

Q: Patrolling the Mojave almost makes you wish for nuclear winter

A: Patrolling the Mojave almost makes you wish for nuclear winter

Q: Say trans rights!

A: Trans rights!

Q: What about Woah papa?

A: Woah mama is not a term of address

Q: Do you support X queer group?

A: Hell yeah!

Q: Hi Elvis!

A: Hi random citizen!

Q: How do you feel about the Kings of Freeside

A: I love those guys

Q: How do you feel about the people who played you in the movies?

A: They aren't the real King, hummina hummina hummina

Q: What was it like in the orb?

A: Bad

Q: How did you get in the orb?

A: Stop asking about the orb

Q: My grandparent / other person loves your music!

A: Good for them!

Q: *Literally anything about Bubba Ho-Tep*

A: I'm aware

Q: *Literally anything relating to the sandwich*

A: Elvis only eats lizards and beetles

Q: What about water?

A: Just lizards and beetles

Q: You ate the beatles???

A: Just Paul. And he got better

Q: What's your favorite lizard and or beetle to eat?

A: Ladybugs

Q: Lizards and beetles sandwich?

A: No

Q: How do you prepare the lizards and beetles?

A: I eat them raw. No other preparation. Just lizards and beetles

Q: McLennon?

A: Yeah why not

Q: *That one image of Elvis recieving a message from Charles Xavier*

A: Yes, it's real, stop sending me it

Q: Do you like My Chemical Romance?

A: Yes, I've said it like five times now

Q: Do you like-

A: The musicians I've commented on are as follows: Hatsune Miku, Tally Hall, Chonny Jash, Johnny Cash, MCR, Weezer, Will Wood (And the Tapeworms), Chappell Roan, Jhariah, Lemon Demon, Eminem, Jay, Eazy, Epic the musical, and probably a few others

Q: Have you heard of All Shook Up?

A: Yeah

Q: Wait there's a comma between Jay and Eazy

A: Oh whoops my bad I should probably fix that

Q: What are your thoughts on "Elvis is Everywhere"?

A: I am everywhere

Q: Woah mamaaaaaaaa ooooooo-oooooo-ooooo ooooo

A: I didn't mean to make you cry, if I'm not back again this time tomorrow, carry on, carry on, as if nothing even matters

Q: Do you ship Phan?

A: No but seriously imagine it

Q: Here's a picture of my pet!

A: Adorable!

Q: Where were you on 9/11/2001

A: The Mojave Desert. Please stop sending asks about 9/11

Q: I've started saying "Woah mama" as a stim

A: That's what it is to Elvis as well

Q: Is "Woah Mama" a vocal stim?

A: Read the above answer

Q: I'm starting hormones soon, any advice?

A: Don't be nervous, you got this, I believe in you

Q: Johnny Bravo!

A: Who do you think I've been impersonating this whole time

Q: Greaseball the Deasel

A: Shut up

Q: You misspelled Diesel

A: Fuck

Q: What are your thoughts on Vriska Homestuck?

A: She did nothing wrong

Q: What is your classpect?

A: King of Rock

Q: Cats or dogs?

A: Hound dogs, crying all the time

Q: What would your fursona be?

A: Nothing but a hound dog

Q: What is your fursona?

A: Didn't I answer this already?

Q: If you had a fursona what would it be?

A: Are you even reading this?

Q: *Luminous Mama post*

A: Been there, done that

Q: Hey I got this ad about you

A: I've seen it

Q: What's your favourite Pokémon?

A: Kingambit (Mod's is H. Zoroark)

Q: What's your favourite movie?

A: Aladdin 2: Return of Jeff R

Q: Is the Elvis Special (a bullet) just a bullet?

A: No it shoots out of a gun

Q: Are you woke?

A: Yeah

Q: Can you be the next pope?

A: Yeah

Q: *Forcefemmes you*

A: A photo of a suprised Elvira

Q: Can you forcefemme me?

A: No

Q: Can you forceelvis me?

A: No

Q: What're your thoughts on Mothman?

A: A good friend of mine

Q: What fires the Elvis Special (a bullet)

A: A gun

Q: *Anything relating to Michael Jackson*

A: Woah mama you are banging my daughter

Q: How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?

A: 12. 12 woods

Q: What are your thoughts on Lilo and Stitch?

A: Amazing movie (the remake isn't real)

Q: *Tagging you in the Fool's Gold Loaf post*

A: How about I block you right now?

Q: What's the plural of Elvis?

A: Elvii

Q: What are your thoughts on Minecraft?

A: What's minecraft

Q:

A: Woah mama that's the 「 WONDER OF U」

Q:

A:

Q: What's the deal with this blank space?

A: It's a question that's been frequently asked– " "

Q: Pricilla was 14

A: I know, that was fucked up, I don't support pedophilia, this is a silly gimmick blog

Q: Erm actually marrying a 14 year old doesn't make you a pedophile

A: Die in a hole

Q: Elvis was racist and stole black music

A: I know. I don't support that. Just because I'm impersonating a famous dead guy doesn't mean I support everything he's ever done

Q: Can I make an AI chatbot of you?

A: Die in a hole

Q: Make the FAQ longer

A: Okay

Q: You were on PM Seymour / Pinterest / Instagram / Tiktok

A: I saw!

Q: I love you / I love this blog!

A: Thank you so much!! I love recieving these love messages but I can't really answer them all. Your praise was received, I promise

Q: Anon hate

A: Ouch

Q: Anon love

A: :)

Q: Where did the FAQ go?

A: Right damn here

I read every question I'm sent and I wish I could answer them all but I can't, sadly

If I didn't answer your ask don't send it again

Don't try to find my main

Don't tag me in note games or note goal posts or anything like that

These anons and this person's dog get to be here because they asked nicely:

Q: Can I be on the FAQ?

A: Sorry, no...

ELVIS TAGGING SYSTEM:

#Woah Mama: Any Elvis post

#Mod post: Posts from the spider lady

#Elvis answers: Asks

#Elvis argues: Arguing with TERFs and other bigots

Now look at this post because I really really like it

Look at this!

Go check out the other Elvisverse blogs!

First List

Second List

Third List

Woah mama

[frankotalk]

you have to admit its pretty funny that transphobes will go red in the face screaming and foaming at the mouth because their basic understanding of gender is being challenged while somewhere in the world some trans person is chilling in a hammock drinking from a coconut with a bendy straw and a little umbrella

[gallusrostromegalus]

The Van Has Officially Declared It Spooky Season

---

I've got my parent's van for the week and it seems determined to establish my status as The Local Cryptid by terrorizing an innocent 7-11 clerk.

...I might need to back up a bit.

My mother is an eminently sensible woman who knows herself well, and when The Plauge hit, she knew she'd need some sort of mentally and physically engaging craft project to keep herself from going insane and massacring the local zoning and water management boards (even if they have it coming). So she and Dad acquired a utility van and converted it into a camper van because while they love camping, they're past the age where their joints and immune systems will tolerate sleeping on the cold ground in a nylon tent.

They did a terrific job of it and my mom taught herself woodworking and carpentry and now the van has it's own cabinets, fold-away dining table, and removable queen-sized bed with memory foam mattress. My Dad was already a computer engineer, but he learned the dark magics of automotive software and electronics to install after-market backup cameras, a media player that would take a terabyte hard drive and a solar-powered battery and outlet so they could wake up and just turn on the kettle and griddle for breakfast without having to exit the van into a cold morning on an empty stomach.

Truly, the height of Camping Luxury.

My parents are both in their mid-seventies and my primary life goal is to be at least half as cool and hale as they are when I get old.

Anyway, they take it out at least a dozen times a year and it works fabulously, but, being as I am on good terms with my parents and also finishing the process of moving house, I've been borrowing it to move large and cumbersome objects that will not fit in the back of my equally lovely but minuscule Honda hatchback.

It's a Great Van. Very easy and comfortable to drive. Stunningly good MPG for it's size. The best cruise control I've ever had in a car.

It's just also. Quirky. Mischievous, even.

---

If this van has a fault its that it bears the unfortunate affliction that all lightly used white utility vans have in that the combination of an utter lack of branding features and the large dent/scrape I accidentally put on it while trying to escape a Denny's last Thanksgiving means that this vehicle is one addition of a Badly Spray-Painted "FREE CANDY" on the side away from being the sort of vehicle you see in an edgy horror movie.

It's got the same issue that Doberman Dogs have where they look like the sort of creature that likes to snack on toddler's faces whilst actually having personalities made of marshmallow fluff. This vehicle is unnecessarily menacing and I think nothing short of an airbrushed Epic Van Wizard will correct this. People see this van pull up and lean over and squint suspiciously at me when the driver's side door opens, and then look moderately confused when, instead of Charles Manson, a small, potato-shaped creature with neon purple hair and a statistically unlikely assortment of dogs emerges.

My own two dogs, Herschel the Hanukkah Goblin/Corgi and Charleston Chew The Taco Dumpster Dog, Do Not Like The Van. Even with the bed in it, they have a tendency to slide and roll around in the back, and both WILL chew through dog saftey belts or other attempts to secure them in there.

On the other hand, my house mate's dog, an exceptionally tall standard poodle whom we lovingly call "The Creature", loves the Van because SHE wears her doggy seat-belt with only mild complaining and gets to sit up in the passenger seat like A People.

Also like A People, The Creature likes to stand and walk around on her hind legs. It doesn't hurt her and it's entirely voluntary, but every so often I will feel a hand on my arm and instead of my husband or friend, it's a canine that's taller than I am on her hind legs who wants to stare at my face with soulful, concerned eyes. The Creature's favorite thing is that she is exactly the right height for me to hold her arm in Genteel Fashion and walk around the pet food or hardware store with her like I'm a count escorting a debutante around a royal ball.

---

As it stands, I am set to inherit this vehicle whenever my Honda gives up the ghost, and I fully intend to paint an Epic Van Wizard on it when that time comes.

The other peculiarity of The Van is that while Dad did manage to successfully install all his after-market electronics, not all the electronics get along. Sometimes, they fight for Dominance. The Terabyte Music Player and the Backup Camera have a particularly contentious relationship, and turning on the music has about a 25% chance of turning on the backup camera as well, and turning on the Backup Camera is equally likely to turn on the music.

Firthermore, The Van has a favorite song.

I am not kidding that Dad filled an entire terabyte hard drive with music and the software to sort it via the radio controls, but of all the Early Boomer Dad Rock (Kingston Trio over The Eagles) and Irish Folk and Symphonies and the entire discography of Weird Al Yankovic, The Van's favorite song- The one it picks to play as victory music every time it beats the Backup Camera at their weird electronic game of rock-paper-scissors -is The Liberty Bell March by John Phillip Sousa.

You all know this song already.

...but in case you've forgotten the tune:

Yeah.

The Van's favorite song is the goddamn Monty Python's Flying Circus Theme Music.

It does not play this song at a normal volume.

Every time I turn on the Backup Camera and it manages to turn the music player on as well, The Van insists on absolutely blasting this nonsense on at the maximum volume it's physically capable of producing, which I know is loud enough to be heard from the Denver International Airport's Pickup zone when they Van decided to start playing it from the economy lot about half a mile away.

Perhaps it's The Van's way of honoring the aesthetic sensibilities and sonic enthusiasm of Mr. Sousa.

...I can't help but wonder if the purpose of an Epic Van Wizard is to control this sort of faerie-like malarkey, and channel these chaotic energies into things like Spell of Don't Break Down In Nevada or Enchantment Of Always Have Good Parking.

---

So last Friday the 13th, I get a call from my friend and housemate, at said airport.

It's roughly 11PM at night, and I have already retired for the evening. I am in the exact minimum of clothing required to be a decent housemate and not scandalize the neighbors should I happen to walk by a window. My feet are up. There is a cat in my lap and fictional British people murdering each other in highly inventive fashion on the tv. -But my friend has returned from her friend's wedding,and either American or United Airlines has managed to lose her luggage, including, among other valuable possessions, the keys to her car. ...So she cannot just drive home as originally planned.

There are, as luck would have it, her spare set of keys not eight feet from me.

Being a good and decent person, I agree to bring the spare keys to her so she may get home before daybreak and not spend a semester's worth of tuition on an uber across the greater Denver traffic jam.

Being also that she Loves Activities, and it's her mom we're going to pick up, I elect to take along The Creature.

I am primarily focused on remembering how to get to the airport and not leaving my friend's spare keys on the counter, so I throw on a pair of flip-flops, step outside, remember that it's AUTUMN and my minimal evening attire is not sufficient thermal protection, step back in, grab the first coat in the closet I lay hands on, pull it on, check that I have her keys again and leave.

The trip to the airport is largely unremarkable, save that it becomes necessary for me to put on sunglasses to drive, despite it being nearly the witching hour and almost entirely darker than the inside of a cow.

It's necessary because this blissful darkness of night is violently punctured by a startling number of cars that seem to have installed miniaturized but no less powerful lighthouse bulbs in where their headlights ought to go so the oncoming traffic and sports cars that insist on tailgating me in the slow lane alike illuminate the road and my mirrors with the kind of radiance I'd normally associate with the arrival of a Seraphim.

I arrive at the distant highly discounted airport car lot where my housemate is waiting, deeply apologetic. It's nothing. I say. Once I see that your car starts up, I'm gonna go to that 7-11 across the way that I parked in front of, get a slurpee or something and I'll see you at home.

While she is retrieving her vehicle (an equally eccentric but much more stately Subaru that is old enough to be elected to congress) I rifle through the loose change in the glove box and discover that I have exactly $6.66 in small bills and coins. The Subaru, continuing it's long voyage into vehicular immortality, immediately starts up.

Upon her return, we all remember that my friend had all her camping gear in the backseat of the car and there is no room for The Creature to ride home with her parent, so I again assure her it's nothing, and will just take The Creature into the 7-11 with me. She is trained as a service animal and needs the practice after the plague.

I wave my friend off and turn to enter the 7-11.

I promptly trip over the jutting back bumper of The Van and fall, cartoonishly, face-first onto the sidewalk.

Fortunately, I have a lot of practice falling on my face, and have learned not to throw my hands out but instead cover my face, so my unexpected self-inflicted attempted curb-stomping lightly scrapes my hairline and nothing else -my sunglasses even stay in place- and I get up and resume my quest for a slurpee.

It's well known that the airport is a lawless place, and the 7-11 across from the discounted airport parking at the stroke of midnight is no exception.

I know it's the stroke of Midnight because there's one of those Audubon society bird-call clocks that makes bird noises, and my arrival is heralded by the twittering call of a Summer Tanager. I am almost charmed enough by the unusual choice of chronological device to excuse the exorbitant Airport-adjacent mark-up of Slurpee prices. I stand at the machine for some time, trying to decide on a size for the price and guess what the fuck "Blue Lighting Blast" is supposed to taste like.

The Creature is being Very Polite but is somewhat agitated, I assume because she *just* saw her mother for the first time in three days and then she LEFT with no explanation, so The Creature is on her hind legs, staring woefully into my eyes, asking to be escorted around the 7-11. Even though that's not what she's not supposed to be doing, there's nobody else in here, so I let her hang off my arm and discuss various Slurpee Flavor options with her.

We eventually decide on an experiment in which I try a Small Blue Lightning Blast, and discover it tastes a bit like licking a nintendo cartridge but in a pleasantly satisfying way.

I go up to pay and realize something is amiss.

The Cashier is a young man staring at me with wide eyes, one had over the register and the other wrapped up in his rosary.

I look down at myself.

In my haste to reunite my friend with her spare keys and service animal, I had left the house in the following accoutrements:

Flip Flops. Not matching. It's below freezing outside. That last part is not particularly odd footwear for the weather in for Colorado, but it's an important detail for the rest of the ensemble.

Assorted scrapes, bruises, cuts and welts on my arms and legs that come with doing outdoor work and living in a house with three dogs and a fully-clawed cat that all want to be in my lap all the time. It's cold out, so vasoconstriction has pulled the blood away from my skin, a trait that served my ancestors well during the last Ice Age, but leaves me with pale skin to contrast the various wounds and I look like a corpse that fell out of the back of a pickup truck.

The black Bootyshorts with "CRYPTID" painted in bright red gothic font across my ass, that @theshitpostcalligrapher gave me for my wedding present.

A peculiar but extremely comfortable garment that straddles the line between "Lacy Camisole" and "Industrial-Strength Sports Bra" like the Ever Given straddling the Suez Canal. It is also Bright Red. with black accents.

The Jacket I had grabbed out of the closet, which is in fact, a black Velour Dinner Jacket.

The Tokyo-Ghoul inspired reusable anti-covid mask a friend made me with the set of Coyote Teeth.

My sunglasses, which are shaped like a Halloween Bat. The lenses are the wings and the body is the nose bridge. It is ALSO bright red.

A Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle that I have been audibly affectionately calling "Dear Creature" who is hanging off my arm like she's my Prom Date.

The Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle is ALSO dressed up in a black Dog Sweater that has white bones printed on it to look like its an X-ray jacket showing off her skeleton.

I look like I am taking my Very Fancy Werewolf Girlfriend to a particularly casual Dinner Party for Vampires, but the thing that's really selling it and probably alarming the kid the most is the fun accessory I acquired in the parking lot not five minutes earlier:

The "Small Scrape At my Hairline" is actually a painless but PROFUSELY bleeding head wound that I had somehow entirely failed to notice covering my face, neck, decolletage and magnificent cleavage with blood like a Tarantino Film Extra.

This does explain why The Creature has been delicately trying to use her bodyweight to push me down onto the floor for the last ten minutes. So I don't injure myself while we wait for the paramedics she hoped this kid called to arrive, you see.

The Creature has such a High and Naive Opinion of humanity.

I decide this social situation is already fucked, and the only way out is through, and with haste, before I start dripping on the floor.

"Hi there!" I say cheerfully, to indicate this is a visually alarming but not terribly serious situation. "Just a Small Slurpee!"

The Cashier has entered the relevant code into the register before I finish the sentence. His gaze flicks off me just long enough to look at the total, and he grips his Rosary harder.

$6.66

"Oh cool! I have exact change!" I say, taking the money out of my as-yet-unsanguined pocket without looking and slap it down on the counter. "You have a good night and be safe out there!" I wave, leaving.

I get in The Van, mortified, buckle The Creature up, and as I make to leave, I have to put it in reverse, which automatically turns on the backup Camera.

It also turns on the music player.

I make eye contact with the cashier as the dulcet tones of John Phillip Sousa boom from the van hard enough to make the windshield and the windows of the 7-11 rattle for the nine-and-a-half seconds I have to wait to be able to turn the volume back down. Not knowing what else to to, I give him a thumbs up, and leave.

Anyway, now I know what my Future Van Wizard has got to be dressed like, and what their familiar is.

---

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