#the introduction of The Curse into my life has made wednesdays very long

[averseunhinged]

ok well we made it. this is more of the porn with feelings that has finally turned into porn. this is not porn, though. it's just kissing and feelings. i totally fucked up the read order last time. all the sorries. i'm pretty sure it's this part, then this week's snippet, then this, and finally this.

“I'm going to kiss you now, Klaus. Is that enough warning? Should I put my hand on your knee for a while? Maybe do the old yawn and stretch maneuver?”

He grinned at her, dimples stretching into deep, grooved lines. It wasn't that Klaus didn't smile often, but for all that he did, he rarely showed his teeth. It was a little bit silly, his big smile, less practiced. Less wary. His teeth weren't perfect or celebrity white, but they were pretty good for a guy who was born before flossing was invented.

Before he could return her volley, she leaned forward and kissed the smile off his mouth. He sucked in a surprised breath through his nose as he returned her kiss, even though she'd warned him. He was a little bit of a sloppy kisser, loose lipped and wet. She might have thought he wasn't interested if it wasn't for the careful, hesitant hands on her waist and thigh.

It had been months since he'd been so hesitant to touch her. Caroline was a touchy, huggy person by nature. It had felt good to not allow him permission at first. Not because she was punishing him -- or not entirely. It let her feel some small amount of control over her own life when she could give him a single glance and he'd obey. By graduation, though, it had stopped feeling quite so satisfying. After he'd returned from New Orleans the second time, his immediate acquiescence, and the disappointed little moue he tried to hide, made her feel downright petty.

He'd taken Rebekah and her to the Outer Banks for a week near the end of August. Caroline was so mad at Tyler and disappointed both Bonnie and Elena had decided not to go to college like they'd all planned; she'd let him take her hand to help her up off the sand and keep it as they'd walked back to the beach house. It wasn't until later, after pitchers of sweet, vivid sangria, after tender Scottadito and fresh, raw oysters with their iodine tang, after Klaus and Rebekah bickered and laughed all evening, the happiest she'd seen either of them, that she'd wondered where her guilt had gone.

She pressed forward harder and angled her head. He'd let his stubble go in the few weeks since she'd left for Whitmore with Rebekah. Other than a couple of day trips to D.C., Klaus didn't seem interested in doing much other than drinking, painting, and reading Jim Thompson novels, one after another. He certainly hadn't made any friends in town, the way Damon had ingratiated himself. She had a feeling he might have been shifting more often, but he hadn't mentioned it, so she hadn't asked. He smelled fresh and clean from the shower and the unscented soaps he preferred, but underneath that were fainter traces of green, summer forest and some raw and bloody and wild.

She scraped her chin along his and liked the way it burned so much, it made her feel wobbly. Her hands moved without her permission, needing the feeling of his skin to ground herself. Her right hand cupped around the side of his neck, her fingers creeping into his hair and up behind his ear. She steadied herself with her other hand on the center of his chest almost below his sternum. His skin shivered beneath her touch and finally came alive.

He'd never really used his strength on her. Even when he was furious, even the one time he'd hurt her, he'd held her. Shook her without squeezing until she bruised. He'd impaled her and bit her and dropped her on the floor like she was nothing, but he'd cradled her, held her like she was something precious he desperately wanted to keep, too. The closest she'd come to understanding was the night Rebekah saved her life. Even with a stake in her shoulder, Rebekah had lifted Caroline like it wasn't any harder to carry her than not to, cracked ribs with the strength of her grip, and moved so quickly, Caroline hadn't had the chance to see what was happening. She'd only heard the screams fading behind them, the squishing and popping of bodies rent, and a rumbling, menacing growl that should have terrified her.

He was gentler now than Rebekah had been, but he pulled Caroline hard enough to overbalance her as he sat up. She collapsed against him, giggling out the butterflies rioting in her stomach, until he settled her in his lap, his right arm coiling around her waist. She didn't need to test his grip to know she wouldn't be able to break it if he didn't allow her to. There was too much need in it, an urgency he'd buried over the summer, while he tried to be her friend. Tried to give her what she wanted, even if it wasn't enough for him. She wondered if anything would ever be enough for him, if he could gorge himself on her until he was satisfied. He took her now in nips and tongue-tip licks until she opened her mouth to him and let him in.

[cxmetery-gates]

SURREPTITIOUS - DRACO MALFOY

CHAPTER THREE: DEFENSE AGAINST THE DARK ARTS

SUMMARY: After getting her schedule, Leslie realizes that exams and essays just might be the least of her worries. WORD COUNT: 2.7k NOTES: Hello! It’s been a century..... whoops. WARNINGS: none!

MASTERLIST

THE NEXT MORNING, FOLLOWING THE feast the night before and catching up with others over breakfast, all the Slytherin six years patiently surround Professor Snape, the Head of Slytherin House, in the Great Hall as he files through their schedules thoroughly. Before the sixth years could be off on their way to class, their schedule had to be confirmed, ensuring they are fit for N.E.W.T.-level courses, considering how miserably difficult each class is.

Some of Leslie's housemates were already on their way, now leaving the young witch with just a few other students, all clad with a serpent emblem and matching emerald-and-silver ties.

"Greyscale," Professor Snape drawls.

The brown eyed girl takes half a step forward. He skims over her desired schedule, along with her O.W.L. scores, taking as much time as the previous students. Meaning, there was a heavy downpour in Leslie's racing thoughts for quite a few moments. Despite the beating of her heart, Leslie passed with high marks on her chosen classes. She was only worried about one in particular.

"Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Potions, and Transfiguration are all fine. I must admit, I was pleased with your Potions mark and to see your continuation."

Despite Leslie's company and social inabilities, the long-time Potions professor (now Defense Against the Dark Arts) had a good standing with the girl. She did her assignments well and always lived up to his unrealistically high standards without complaint. Not many could say the same, so Leslie took his statement as a compliment. While the witch let out a breath of relief, Professor Snape had yet to confirm the last.

"But, I must ask: why the interest in Alchemy?"

Leslie had known her answer for a while. "My mother excelled in the practice, and I have always had an interest." Many years before Leslie was born, her mother had been gaining recognition for her work in the art, the Daily Prophet once even had a column titled "Witches You Should Know" with the mother's name at the top. Eve Greyscale was a talented, intelligent, and kind witch with a life ahead of her, but the world is unkind even to the most gentle of souls.

"Fair enough," the professor replies in understanding.

Professor Snape did not feel the need to question the girl further. After all, last term when she and the professor sat down for the mandatory meeting on what her last two years of Hogwarts should look like, Leslie informed him that she was still mostly uncertain which career path she desired. Perhaps Leslie would continue what legacy was stripped away all those years ago. "Lucky it was offered this term. Be sure you and Mr. Malfoy make Slytherin proud."

The girl could have blanched, but the parchment was held in front of her face, egging her to move and get on with her day. Leslie took the paper from the head of Slytherin House and glanced over to the pale blonde for a split second. As quickly as her eyes shot towards him, she looked away—she had not expected to see the young wizard already staring her down.

Leslie let out a long breath as she begun to head out of the Great Hall. Glancing down at the paper, her eyes absorbed her schedule for her sixth year at Hogwarts:

MONDAY:        10:00-11:00 : Defense Against the Dark Arts        11:00-12:00 : Lunch        13:00-15:00 : Potions

TUESDAY:        13:00-15:00 : Potions        15:30-17:00 : Charms

WEDNESDAY:

THURSDAY:

FRIDAY:        09:00-11:00 : Alchemy        11:00-12:00 : Lunch        13:00-15:00 : Transfiguration

The schedule is almost ideal, happy to see her Wednesdays and Thursdays would be free. Though, Leslie knows the off-days are intended for students to work on the vast amount of assignments. Nonetheless, she feels content.

"Hey, Leslie," a voice calls almost lazily.

Upturning her head, Leslie searches for voice, coming across a ginger boy. A distinct memory of her and different ginger boy, though a couple years her senior, alone and in very close proximity pops into her head and she feverishly tries to calm a blush. However, Ron Weasley spots it and it takes effort on his part to not laugh. Harry is with his friend and no doubt knows about the story in the two's head, having a twitch at the corner of his lips.

Leslie almost wants to run to the Slytherin common room, but instead, she smiles sweetly.

"Harry and I were comparing schedules," Ron informs her. "What's yours looking like?"

"Well, I have a free period now," - to this, Harry and Ron made a unanimous 'us too' - "And after, I have Defense Against the Dark Arts and then Potions later." Once again, the two Gryffindors make the same sound, the group pleased they share the same Monday schedule.

As the comparisons went on, Leslie discovered she also has Charms and Transfiguration with both Harry and Ron. It appeared the only class she had alone, at least so far to her knowledge, was Alchemy. The two Gryffindors made a face when they read the name on her timetable.

"Professor Snape said Malfoy is also in it." With a curl of her lip, Harry and Ron visibly see her lack of comfort in the ordeal. The duo understands all too well, and it only took befriending Leslie a year prior to propel their disdain.

"Malfoy is into that sort of thing?" Ron questions, his brow arched in disbelief. "Huh. I wouldn't have put him as someone interested in anything, except for being a royal git."

Leslie smiles though her eyebrows draw close. "Git or not, he's allowed to have interests. He's still a human, you know."

Ron scoffs, glaring at the platinum blonde now walking out of the Great Hall. "Hardly," is the ginger's reply which earns a good laugh from Leslie and Harry.

Now that the corridors were beginning to thin, Leslie decided she could afford to go back to the common room to grab more ink, having realize she only snagged a single bottle. "I'll see you in a few," Leslie tells her friends before taking the stretch to the dungeons.

══════════════════

Almost an hour later, Leslie's march ends at a queue leading to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. She was nearly late, but luckily, Professor Snape is very punctual about when to let students inside his classroom, leaving them all to wait outside until 10 o'clock exactly.

She just reaches the end of the line when the door is swung open, revealing the professor.

"Inside," is all he says.

Leslie did not miss Ron's bright hair and while she would have chose to sit next him and his friends, Professor Snape made it a habit to sort his students by House. So, Leslie took to one side as the other houses took to another. The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws took the front while the house of serpents and lions took the back.

Unfortunately, due to Leslie arriving last, the very back row had the only available seating. And what made things worse was who sat in the spot next to the last stool.

Despite her glancing around, there was no other option but for Leslie to sit next to the blonde Draco Malfoy, not having realized (nor is she surprised) he was in the queue for the Dark Arts class. It appears his lap dog Pansy Parkinson and his goons did not pass or choose to take a N.E.W.T. level Defense Against the Dark Arts, otherwise he'd have his own posse to take up the remaining seats. For once, Leslie is upset she and the Parkinson girl do not share a course.

What had happened on the train did not falter in retellings. She felt almost thankful Malfoy created a distraction for her head, that much she will admit, but a giant part nagging at her was the fact that it simply was Malfoy who triggered the silence. She doesn't know whether her bumping shoulders was just a break in the wiring or if his presence meant something else. Leslie also was not wanting to find out. Not to mention, the ordeal made Leslie uncomfortable with their history considered.

"You are the worst person I have ever met, Draco!"

"If you would just listen to me, instead of acting crazy—!"

The witch blinks away a fight from last term and, ever so reluctantly, Leslie lowers herself on Malfoy's left, keeping her eyes far from his figure as a scar across her right hand replays a story. She sets her bag down, knowing Snape will use the first few minutes as an introduction to the course.

Leslie waits for a remark, something cruel to come out of the boy's mouth. But nothing of the such passes his lips. Instead, she finally notices his eyes are angled at her hand that was fiddling with the quill on her desk. Faster than a Golden Snitch, she redacts her arm under the table.

It was only then did Leslie notice how Professor Snape turned the old classroom into something of his own— truly his own. The atmosphere is heavy and gloomy, curtains pulled over the windows and the only source of light comes from lit candles. There were pictures, too, that rose goosebumps on Leslie's arms; they all depict what she assumes is the aftermath of evil curses and dark magic.

"I wish to speak to you, and I want your fullest attention."

Every wandering gaze fell upon the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor.

"You have had five teachers in this subject so far, I believe. Naturally, these teachers will all have had their own methods and priorities. Given this confusion, I am surprised so many of you scraped an O.W.L. in this subject. I shall be even more surprised if all of you manage to keep up with the N.E.W.T. work, which will be more advanced." The statement did nothing to calm the nerves of each student. They all went in knowing the difficulties of N.E.W.T. classes, but the reminder from the monotone professor makes everything more real.

"The Dark Arts," Professor Snape continues having rounded the edge of the room towards the gruesome photos, "are many, varied, ever-changing, and eternal. Fighting them is like fighting a many-headed monster, which, each time a neck is severed, sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than before. You are fighting that which is unfixed, mutating, indestructible. Your defenses must therefore be as flexible and inventive as the arts you seek to undo. These pictures give a fair representation of what happens to those who suffer, for instance, the Cruciatus Curse" - all eyes absorb the sight of a witch shrieking an agony - "feel the Dementor's Kiss" - then a wizard with sunken, lifeless eyes huddled in a corner - "or provoke the aggression of the Inferius" - finally, a bloody mass.

"Has an Inferius been seen, then?" Parvati Patil asks. "Is it definite? Is he using them?"

The mere concept of an Inferius makes Leslie shudder. To reincarnate the dead to do one's bidding is far too disturbing for her to stomach.

Professor Snape's eyes shows he did not appreciate the interruption. "The Dark Lord has used Inferi in the past which means you would be well-advised to assume he might use them again. Now, you are, I believe, complete novices in the use of nonverbal spells. What is the advantage of a nonverbal spell?"

It was an answer every student knew, but Hermione Granger shot her hand up anyways. Leslie had to bite back the humored smile as the professor surveyed the rest of the classroom, hoping for another hand to raise. But no one wanted to deflate Hermione's ego.

"Very well. Ms. Granger?"

"Your adversary has no warning about what kind of magic you're about to perform which gives you a split-second advantage," says the Gryffindor.

"An answer copied almost word for word from The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six..." Professor Snape says dismissively. Next to Leslie, she hears Malfoy snicker, leading the girl to roll her eyes, a small huff escaping her.

The boy shoots his eyes to the left, eyeing down and smirking at Leslie. "I see the summer did nothing to kill that newfound feistiness. I almost miss the old you."

"And I missed it when you weren't speaking."

Dark brown irises roll once more to glare at silver grays, though the later holds a mischievous glint. Malfoy makes an exhale, the sound of a laugh being hidden. Leslie knows he is trying to get under her skin. Part of her feels it working, the other part truly just wants the boy to shut up. "Those Gryffindors really did a number on you. Especially that one twin—"

Before Leslie can retort, a voice comes from the front of the classroom. "If your conversations during my lecture are so important, Mr. Malfoy and Ms. Greyscale, perhaps a free period would be better suited."

Eyes from all around shoot towards the pair in the back. Leslie notices Ron give her a sympathetic smile. "Sorry, Professor," Leslie utters, as Malfoy was too busy smiling to himself.

The rest of Professor Snape's lecture was simply instructions on how to cast a non-verbal spell. Luckily, Leslie was already halfway to success, having learned how to perform a Shield Charm thanks to D.A. last year. However, they never learned how to cast it without using words. Leslie felt her nerves kick in even with her professor preparing them with the essential steps.

"You will now work with the person next to you. One partner will attempt to jinx the other without speaking. The other will attempt to repel the jinx in equal silence."

Oh, how lovely, Leslie thinks bitterly.

The back of the classroom held a wide space, wide enough for each pair to have room to practice standing up. Malfoy stood before Leslie when Professor Snape sent them off on their way. Leslie suppresses a groan when she pushes her stool back.

From behind her, she hears Harry whisper, "Good luck. If he does anything stupid..."

Leslie tosses a reassuring smile to the boy. "I'm sure I'll be fine, but thanks."

Malfoy already stands waiting with his wand out as Leslie approaches. There's a sly smirk on his face. It makes Leslie uncomfortable: does he thrive on making her queasy? "I'll go first."

"Go figure," Leslie replies wandering a few paces away. A few feet from the Slytherins, two Gryffindor boys named Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan were paired to spar but only stood glaring at the blonde boy. Both boys made the assumption Malfoy was going to put Leslie in the hospital wing. Unbeknownst to them, however, the gift that allows her to know their very thoughts will aid her during the exercise, avoiding whatever the reason was behind Malfoy's smirk.

It took a matter of five minutes before Malfoy's smirk fell clean off his face. Much like the rest of the students, he had grown frustrated by the lack of progress. Leslie was gaining some improvement, but of course Hermione had seemingly mastered the skill before anyone else. Her efforts should have given Gryffindor at least 20 House Points, but all Professor Snape was interested in regarding that house was taking points away.

"Excellent progress," Snape tells the Slytherins. "But be more demanding, Greyscale. It is not your strong suit obviously, but defending yourself against Dark Wizards require it."

"Yes, thank you, Professor," Leslie responds as her professor and Malfoy share a brief moment of eye contact.

Malfoy twirls his wand and then goes still once Professor Snape moves on. "Try screaming the spell in your head. It's slowly working for me so far."

Leslie's eyebrow raises. Truthfully, the advice would have made her laugh if anyone would have given it to her. But she's stubborn, and not ready for Malfoy to earn her praise. "I didn't ask for your help."

He shrugs. "Yeah, well, the sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can go back to hating each other."

"I've always hated you." Her eyes narrow but it's a lie, and Malfoy knows that well.

The same sly smirk fell upon his face once more. "That's not how I remember things."

Malfoy would regret his advice a second later as he flies backwards, not yet ready to block the spell from Leslie's wand.

"Powerful, and effective. Twenty points to Slytherin," Professor Snape announces as Leslie wears the proud smirk Malfoy once had.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

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[caemthe-a]

     So I ended up reading Kinsella’s Táin in a day (something I should’ve done first since it’s far more comprehensible than older translations, but I’m didn’t because I’m a dumbass) and here are some details I didn’t pay much attention to when reading other translations until yesterday and also other things because I find them extremely amusing: 

It’s all Conchobar’s fault ngl.

The Táin properly starts on a Monday after Samain’s feast (Oct. 31) and ever since Cú never slept “unless against his spear for an instant after the middle of the day, with head on fist and fist on spear and the spear against his knee” (p.143, yes I put page because I’m annoying like that) until a Wednesday after Imbolc’s feast (Feb. 1), which means that Cú had been fighting the enemy armies without sleeping for MONTHS.

Until Cú was badly wounded so Lugh (aka Cú’s father) appeared to watch over him and heal him while Cú slept. Cú slept for 3 days and 3 nights. (Must’ve been some awkward days for Láeg since he was there too). That also meant that Ulster was defenseless against its enemies but Uster’s boys’ troop (150 young boys who were training to become warriors under Cú’s guidance) fought and they were all slaughtered. But they were no mere children because they managed to kill 3 times their own numbers. Absolute legends. (Actually, it’s very sad once Cú wakes up and is told that the boys’ troop been slaughtered... and then he goes full ríastrad on Medb’s armies)

Lugh is a storm god theory is WHACK and a stretch to try to compare him to another god of Norse mythology. (Alright, this isn’t particular to the Táin, it’s just me being salty about this very specific topic.)

Remember when I said Cú was a morning person? Well, that’s WRONG and I’m stupid. Cú actually hates waking up and no one ever tries to wake him up because, when he was a kid, some dude tried to wake him and baby Cú accidentally punched the dude’s brains out. (Another of baby Cú’s stories includes him hiding under Conchobar’s bed after punching about 50 boys and then you got the entirety of Ulster + King Conchobar + Fergus trying to pull him out). Anyway, back to the Táin.

One of the armies that were allied to Connacht was really efficient and fast and Medb didn’t like that one bit so her solution was to kill them all. Aillil: ‘What a womanly thing to say! We can’t do that!’ Fergus agreed and was the bigger brain then and therefore it was decided that the badass army should be distributed among the other armies.

I actually really like Fergus’ character during the entirety of the book and how he kept making fools of Medb and Aillil the whole time to delay their armies and give some time to Cú to recover and fight back. I’m giving him some rights back because I’m Cú biased.

Right, for at least 3 months, the war was only between the armies of Connacht (+ armies sent from other regions of Ireland... they all pretty much said Fuck them Ulster) against Cú Chulainn (with Láeg and his horses as emotional support). You would think that the armies of thousands of warriors would easily win against one 17yo boy, right? Haha... You would also think that considering Cú’s kill count, this enemy forces would start considering Cú as a serious threat and respect him, right? Absolutely not! Aillil actually has to threaten his troops to stop them from badmouthing Cú (Context: As soon as anyone insulted Cú, Cú would use his slingshot to blow their heads. He’s always watching... and listening!) Also, Cú has to wear a fake beard on TWO different occasions because, otherwise, the warriors wouldn’t fight him. (The best part of this is that the people actually bought the fake beard thing.)

Unless someone’s talking shit about him, Cú can’t aim for shit. (He does things out of spite.) For nearly three months he tries to shoot Medb and Aillil’s heads but he keeps missing each time and hits other targets instead. Sad.

Sometimes Cú likes to lie practically naked on the snow while staring at nothingness and tbh? Mood.

At some point, The Morrígan shows up disguised as a beautiful princess and tries to seduce Cú in a quite forceful manner, to which Cú says hard pass. The Morrigan gets offended and decides to make Cú’s life miserable from then on, to which our best boy says: Bring it on, WENCH! (Jokes aside, in concept, it’s really interesting that the goddess of death, victory, and war falls in love with a hero fated to accomplish greats feats and have his name remembered forever in all of Ireland and to die young.)

Then, The Morrigan transforms into an eel/fish and makes Cú trip when he’s crossing the river to meet the Connacht armies. Apparently, this is THE WORST that could ever happen to Cú because he gets so embarrassed and flustered that he just lies there and tries to hide a little. It’s so bad that he has no will to fight and Láeg has to give him prep talk so that he stands up again. I said Láeg was his emotional support!

And also Cú’s only brain cell! Because when Medb sent a message to Cú to meet her without carrying any weapon, Láeg went ‘Yeah, dude, don’t be stupid, that’s a trap.’ And of course it was a trap! This made Cú kinda annoyed because Medb had tried to deceive him and therefore destroys all the armies that Medb sent to kill him. And upon seeing her warriors getting slaughtered, Medb goes ‘This is so unfair! He’s doing injustice against my people!’ Mmm, I wonder who’s fault that this.

Ferdiad and Cú’s battle is always overwhelming and depressing and there’s gay drama no matter what.

An iconic moment from that battle is when Ferdiad asks his charioteer to look and see if Cú has arrived yet, to which the charioteer says ‘no, Ferdiad, buddy, we arrived like... 3 hours early to your date, what the fuck’. And Ferdiad goes, ‘Look again’ and the charioteer says, ‘Hey, dude, I know your boyfriend is tiny but he’s not THAT tiny’.

The book doesn’t explicitly mention how short is Cú but the people keep comparing him to a little hound, little deer, whelp, calf, little goat, etc.etc. etc. There also was this one time when Cú went ‘hey, hey what the fuck. I went full ríastrad last night. I can’t have people thinking I’m ugly.’ So he puts on his cool clothes and walked between where the Kingdoms of Ireland were gathered and the crowds went WILD. The men were standing there looking at Cú all dumbfounded but the women (their wives) couldn’t see him (like I said, he’s really short) so they got on the men’s shoulders to look at Cú. Medb got curious about what was the ruckus about and got on some dude’s shoulder’s too and looked at Cú and went ‘Hey, what the fuck! He’s a literal baby and you’re telling me that he’s the one who has been humiliating my troops?!’ Medb wasn’t amused.

Btw the reason why Medb and Aillil didn’t grab the brown bull Donn Cualigne and yeeted themselves out of there was because the bull was a powerhouse and no one could actually grab him. He would kill a fuckton of people whenever they tried to grab him so they decided that that was a bad idea.

Anyway, by the end of the Táin, the men of Ulster recovered from the pangs of Macha. (It was a curse that fell upon them for being major assholes. Don’t force pregnant women, who are about to give birth, to participate in chariot races, that’s just bad. Btw Macha, the pregnant woman, won the race.) And so everyone starts talking and making a huge deal of THE GREAT BATTLE and there are these cool and long introductions to the warriors of Ulster, Conchobar is all ‘I just came here to laugh at you’ at Medb and Aillil. And so you get a bunch of warriors come and go from THE GREAT BATTLE, and Cú says, ‘Damn, Laég, you better tell me all about THE GREAT BATTLE’ (Cú can’t participate because he’s still too wounded from his battle with Ferdiad). But they never actually show you THE GREAT BATTLE. Sad.

Also, sadly, there wasn’t nowhere nearly enough content of Conall Cernach and his dog-headed, man-eating, gore-covered, foaming monster horse and I think that’s a damn shame. ucu.