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plothooksinc · 2 years ago

Note

For NRFTW prompts; this may or may not be a bit of a stretch since it's outside of the POVs in the original fic, but I'd just love to see what happened when April's parents were at Run of the Mill. I think it would be really funny to see Senior Hueso getting increasingly more exasperated.

Either that, or seeing the dinner that was promised at the end of NRFTW. I do always love me some found family fluff.

Honestly, both would be great, but even seeing just one of those would absolutely make my day.

You're in luck, actually! I chose Hueso, but the prompter after you asked for the dinner |D so I guess I'll write that next!

Fair warning for this: I do not know Spanish. I have thus used it sparingly. If anyone else knows Spanish and I have it wrong, please tell me and I will course correct.

They were closed. They’d been closed for days, but the announcement that the lockdown was officially over had been just a few hours ago, and so perhaps it was lucky that Hueso had decided to check in on his beloved restaurant to see if it had survived the surface invasion intact. He had high hopes, given its highly secretive entrance to the mundane world, but he also needed to take inventory of his kitchen because the lockdown had been unexpected, to say the least, and some of his more delicate ingredients would not have survived a four day absence of care.

Perhaps it was also lucky that Hop had come with him, lured by the promise of double pay, to help him clean out the pantry and set any issues to rights. Because when the yokai popped into existence in the middle of his dining room—complete with two shell-shocked, dark-skinned humans—Hueso himself was not at ground zero. And he was not their first impression. And a fluffy, wide-eyed black and white rabbit yokai was perhaps less terrifying to two panicked humans than a skeleton in a fedora. Hueso was not convinced that, had he been the first point of contact, the woman would not have tried to run him through with her knife.

For all the good it would do her. But… details.

Instead, he bolted out of the kitchen to the sound of multiple screams, stopping short at the counter to see Hop on the floor with both arms over his head, his feet thumping a pattern on the ground—and a woman breathing hard in a pair of blue jeans and an orange shirt and dark, wild curly hair that reminded him of someone else. He couldn’t work out if the man holding onto her shoulders was cowering or merely holding her back, they both seemed so terrified, but at least the knife in the woman’s hands wasn’t actually in use. Held in a death grip, maybe, but—

Mayhem, he did recognise. Because the traitorous little yokai hopped from the woman’s shoulder onto his counter, stared at him pointedly, and then vanished.

Which drew all attention in the room his way.

And if the screaming had been loud before…

For a moment, he considered turning on his heel and walking back into the kitchen, locking the door behind him. It was so tempting. But he had a duty of care to Hop, and he should probably… do something about the humans in his Yokai Only (With One Exception) establishment.

“I’ll thank you to stop yelling,” he said irritably. “Nobody is going to hurt you. You will perhaps tell me why you are here, yes?”

The knife swung in his direction, the woman’s expression fierce, and Hop took the opportunity to scoot away from the couple, jamming himself into the corner instead. Hueso sighed. “No trust. Senora, this is a pizzeria, not a death trap. That’s next door. If you put the knife down and take a seat, I will fetch you some soothing tea and you can explain to me why you have appeared without warning when we are closed.”

The woman blinked at him, and then her gaze travelled across the menu boards behind him, and her eyes widened. Thankfully, she finally lowered the knife.

“…Run of the Mill?” she said, sounding dazed. “I know this place.”

He stiffened. “How so?”

“My daughter... orders from here?”

Ah. That would be why she looked so familiar to him, then. Hueso adjusted his fedora and graciously kept his sigh to himself. “Your daughter has good taste. In pizza, if not in company.” That was mostly a lie; the boys weren’t that bad, but he wasn’t about to admit that. “However, she is not here today, and so my question still stands. Why did Mayhem bring you to my closed establishment?”

“Oh, good,” the man at her back murmured, and he smiled in a way that suggested he was not, in fact, happy at all. “April and Mayhem have both been here before. Isn’t that great, honey? Hmm?”

“Wait, that’s not important,” said the woman—Mrs O’Neil, he would assume until told otherwise. To his great annoyance, she swung the knife up again. “You have to send us back. We left her there, you took us away—“

“I took you nowhere,” Hueso snapped, both from impatience and the realisation that something untoward had possibly happened. He just wanted to check on his restaurant, but apparently that was not in the cards today. “If you listened, I said the furry creature with you—“

“Mayhem,” Mr O’Neil muttered. “I think that’s right. The… nice skeleton man is just as surprised as we are.”

His fingers squeezed into her shoulders, and she lowered the knife again. Hueso raised an eyebrow at her, wondering if she’d just threaten him again in a moment—she seemed the type. But Mrs O’Neil looked tired, and had begun to shake. Definitely something terrible had happened. Besides their sudden appearance here.

Now, he did sigh.

“Hop, go home,” he said wearily. “I will pay you until the end of the evening as promised. The two of you, please. Sit down.”

---------

Hop was a good kitchen hand but otherwise terribly anxious and hadn’t needed to be told twice to leave; by the time Hueso came back from the kitchen with tea, he was gone. Hueso eyed the corner where he’d squished himself in case the woman had somehow gone crazy in his absence, but there was no sign of violence and the couple was now sitting at the corner booth, though they both seemed as rigid as corpses. It was as if they were expecting the booth to come alive and eat them whole. (He… would refrain about joking about that sort of thing. They might actually believe him. And one day, it might not actually be a joke, given some of his clientele.)

The knife sat on the table with the blade facing away from the edge. It was as close to a truce as he suspected they could manage, and he placed the tray on the table, amused as they stared at it suspiciously.

“You will be reassured to note my tea is a mundane herb for soothing the nerves and likely something you are familiar with,” he said blandly. “Just as I’m sure you are already familiar with pizza. This is a normal restaurant, for all intents and purposes.”

They didn’t need to know about the delicate ingredients. Not unless he decided he didn’t like them. The jury was still out; for one thing, the knife. The yelling. His restaurant being closed. But on the other side of the equation, they were related to April, who had thus far been a surprisingly tolerable human guest.

They were also traumatized, and once he listened to their slightly incoherent attempts to tell him what had happened—tripping over each other in their haste to talk about alien zombie creatures—he realised Mayhem had brought them here to save their lives. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Surely, there were other places Mayhem would consider safer than a yokai restaurant.

Well. Small mercy that at least the dining room had not been open at the time.

Mrs O’Neil took a sniff of her tea with a cautious face, and then pulled back in surprise. “Chamomile?”

“And a touch of honey.”

“Oh. I wouldn’t have thought—“

“I can assure you, Senora, that many yokai tastes run quite similarly to those of humans. Like pizza, for example. Consider that you are sitting in a pizzeria.”

The look she gave him was actually irritated. “I was going to say it’s weird to find chamomile in a pizzeria.”

“…ah.” Well. Perhaps, when she wasn’t panicking, she was a reasonable woman. He tipped his hat. “My apologies. It is actually a blend for my own personal use.”

“Why are you Spanish?” Mr O’Neil asked abruptly, and Hueso stared.

“…I beg your pardon?”

“Hon,” his wife said tiredly, “You can’t just go around asking random skeletons why they’re Spanish—“

“It’s a valid question,” he insisted, but his expression was sheepish. “You said yokai. Yokai are Japanese in origin.”

“In origin,” Hueso repeated back pointedly. “A very, very long time ago. It is an adopted term for many of us. Your daughter has been consorting with yokai for more than a year now; I am surprised to find the two of you so ignorant.”

“…she what.”

…ah.

Well, if April was going to send her parents to him, what was he meant to assume? Hueso rubbed his fingers against his skull, trying not to hold it against them when they flinched at the click of his knuckles.

“Let’s start over.”

--------

Their first cup of tea settled their nerves enough that they thanked him politely for his hospitality, though Hueso noted tiredly their gratitude came with shell-shocked expressions, and he wondered how much of this they would retain later. The woman asked him if April had friends here—while her husband tried for the fourth time to call his daughter—and Hueso gave a faint shrug. He may have only a slight regret about accidentally throwing April under the bus, but Frankie’s daughter and the turtle boys were another story. Now that he knew how little they knew, it was time to keep his distance: he left them to continue their phone calls and vanished into the kitchen.

He was just putting a pizza into the oven when his kitchen door slammed open, and Hueso ground his teeth at the sight of Mrs O’Neil bursting into his kitchen looking upset all over again.

“Senora—“

“You don’t have a front door,” she said shrilly. “Why don’t you have a front door?”

Ah. They’d tried to leave. He could understand this particular panic, and he straightened. “Senora, this is a non-human establishment. As such, there is no door that any casual tourist can just walk through. Imagine the upset.” He raised an eyebrow. “Imagine if they all had knives.”

“They wouldn’t be carrying knives!”

“That is… reassuring?”

Her mouth opened and closed, and then she ran a hand down her face, face suddenly so tired. “Guns. They’d be carrying guns.”

“Less reassuring. Also an odd tangent.” He blinked. “This may be a strange question given the circumstances, but are you—“

“I’m fine,” she muttered. “I was trying to protest and then I realised you had a point.”

“Gracias.”

“No, but—sorry for bursting into your kitchen—“

“And again.”

“—but we really need to leave.” Her hands twisted into her shirt. “April isn’t answering her phone and we’ve tried, we’ve tried a lot, we’ve left messages, and we left her there and there are zombies, can you please let us out? There’s another way to leave, right?”

There was, of course. There were three ways out, and he wasn’t particularly inclined to show her any of them for a variety of reasons. First and foremost was the safety and privacy of his family and his livelihood. The O’Neils seemed like decent people, but they were still human and he’d only just met them. Giving them the mystical keys to get in and out of his restaurant—or allowing them to see where it was in New York—was not something he was willing to commit to just yet.

Another reason, of course, was plain common sense.

“Senora, the little furry yokai brought you here for a reason,” he said gently. “Did April ask him to bring you?”

“Yes,” she said heavily. “But—“

“Then you didn’t leave her there. She made you go. And most likely for the reason that she can hold her own far better when she does not have to worry about you as well.” He’d never seen April fight, but he knew the company she kept. It stood to reason. “Though I am curious as to why she sent you to my restaurant.”

“She told Mayhem to take us somewhere safe.”

“Ah.” Then this was a choice of Mayhem’s. The next time the little yokai came in, they were going to have words. Or at least… pointed stares. “You seem to be quite familiar with Mayhem, at least.”

“We knew he wasn’t, uh, quite a cat or a dog. And there are mutants out there,” she said awkwardly. “I figured he was a mutant animal of some kind, but… yokai, huh?”

He relaxed a little, leaning back against the counter. “You do not have a problem with mutants?”

“Well, I don’t know any, except for—well, no.” She folded her arms. “If Mayhem’s a yokai, then I’ve never met one. But they’re just people, right?”

A good attitude to have. He raised an eyebrow. “As are yokai. But you drew a knife on my kitchen hand.”

She had the grace to look sheepish—for all of half a second before she straightened against the door, ticking off points on her fingers, voice incredibly polite. “First, I already had the knife out because I was under attack by zombies. Second, I’ve never teleported in my life, and switching out a zombie for a sudden furry rabbit guy didn’t do wonders for my anxiety. I didn’t stab him. I would have stabbed a zombie.”

“I am glad you are such a discerning knife wielder,” he said dryly, and was rewarded with the small upward tick of her mouth. Ah. He was beginning to like her.

“I’m sorry I frightened him, though.”

“I will pass on your apology.” He tapped his finger on the edge of the oven. “Senora, I know you wish to leave, and I do not wish to spite you. But I feel it is best that you stay here for the moment. Your daughter…” He hesitated, but he’d already thrown April under the bus once, and he doubted very much her parents would still remain ignorant after this evening regardless. “I imagine she already has much experience in dealing with such issues. One assumes she knows where you are and will come to collect you.”

She was quiet a long moment, dark eyes sizing him up, and the faint smile faded. “And if I insist?”

“Then I would think you are remarkably foolish.”

“But would you keep us here?”

He sighed, throwing a hand in the air with some impatience. “I am not a jailer. I will find some way of returning you home.” He just—didn’t really want to. But Hueso wasn’t about to take a pair of humans prisoner, either. “Consider this also, however: by the time you return home, it will be too late regardless. Your apartment is some distance from here.”

She blinked. “You know where we live?”

“Your daughter orders from us,” he reminded her.

“…are your delivery boys also yokai?”

“Girls, actually. And yes.” Cloaked for the outside world, but nevertheless.

“…huh.”

It was a thoughtful huh, and she sagged against the wall, running a hand through her hair. It made the curls stand up at awkward, frizzed angles, and he suspected his heated kitchen was doing her no favours. “What do you suggest?”

He gestured toward the oven. “Sit and recover yourselves. Have a meal. It’s likely either Mayhem or your daughter will come looking for you. Honour April’s attempt to keep you safe and stay safe. If she still cannot be reached—“

Mrs O’Neil straightened suddenly, cutting him off. “Do you know who Donnie is?”

That…was unexpected.

He stared at her, mouth open for a moment, before he clicked his jaw shut. “Out of curiosity, why do you ask?”

“Before we left,” she said steadily. “She was yelling at him over her—uh, watch. I think she was asking for help. We can’t reach her on the phone, so—“

Ah. This he could work with, and he wished it had come up sooner. But he could hardly blame them for the stresses of the evening. Perhaps he could help more directly after all.

“Donnie is a customer of mine,” he said. “Go back to your seat, Senora. I do not have his number, but I do have his brother’s. I will try and reach him for you.”

---------

Leonardo was not picking up his phone.

This was somewhat surprising, as Hueso had a long history of having to grit his teeth when calling the boy, because his reaction was always, always over-enthusiastic and immediate and what’s up, Bone Man? and I knew I was your favourite and sometimes he wished that he had Raphael’s number instead, but Leo had insisted they were ‘mejor amigos’ (and Hueso regretted answering his questions on various Spanish words) and he was the one who forced his phone into Hueso’s face first.

He left a message. It was simple. The situation was too complex for more.

Pepino. Call me. Immediately.

Surprising, but when he thought about it, if the boys were at April’s apartment dealing with an apparent zombie situation (zombies? Really? Not that he doubted the O’Neils, but zombies?) they were perhaps too busy for phone calls. He fetched the pizza from the oven and carved it up into slices. Only Mrs O’Neil was at the booth, looking even more frazzled and now exhausted, but she looked up as he slid the pizza onto the table on its wooden platter.

Then she peered at the pizza with the sudden interest of a woman who has just remembered she is starving, and she reached forward for a slice immediately. “Wait, is this—“

“Spicy chicken. Extra sauce.”

“How did you know?”

“We have had this conversation three times now,” he said with amusement, and she huffed a small laugh. “Again—“

“My daughter orders from you, yeah, I got it.”

“And I know what her favourite is when she eats here. I had to assume this one was either your favourite or your husband’s.” He paused. “Where is he, by the way?”

“Oh… he went to find your restroom.” She took a bite and leaned back, pointing across the room, speaking with her mouth full. “An’ got distracted on t’way back.”

That could be alarming. His restroom was perfectly average, but the hallway down to it was lined with multiple artworks and posters and news articles that were largely from the Hidden City. Including a picture of April with Sunita and Frankie, which he hoped very much that the man did not see. He was fresh out of explanations he desired to give.

Fortunately, it seemed Mr O’Neil had been distracted by something much more mundane, if more important to Hueso than the contents of the hallway combined. He was stooped by the model ship on its stand, eyeing it with obvious delight, and Hueso decided that perhaps both of April’s parents were not, in fact, bad people.

“I have left a message,” he told Mrs O’Neil. “Donnie is… very much a foolish teenager, but he and his brothers are more than adequate to help your daughter deal with any trouble. It won’t be long.” (He wasn’t used to calling the boy Donnie, but it was wise not to give her even more information. Hueso was a restaurant owner big on confidentiality and wished to stay in his lane. April could deal with that tangle.)

She swallowed before answering this time. “Thank you. Uh…”

And she glanced back at the signs on the counter as if looking for inspiration, and that’s when he realised he hadn’t introduced himself.

“You can call me Senor Hueso.”

She mouthed something for a brief moment—he suspected it was bone from the confused look on her face—and then she smiled tiredly.

“Carol O’Neil. My husband’s name is August.”

“A pleasure.”

Well. That was stretching it. But they could certainly be worse company.

---------

Leonardo still wasn’t answering his phone.

---------

“You speak Spanish?”

“Si, Senor. August too, but not as fluently.”

“He is still looking at my ship.”

“He loves boats. Or ships. Whichever. He has a collection at home.”

“Ah. Is he a sailor?”

“Not since he was a teenager. You?”

“For a while. Then I decided to turn my gaze towards more…. legitimate business.”

“Oh. What, were you a, uh. Smuggler?”

“Not quite.”

“…you weren’t a, um…”

“Pirate? Yes.”

“Oh! I was thinking something more… skeletal.”

“…Senora. I assure you that I am not now, nor have I ever been… Santa Muerte. A ‘Grim Reaper’.”

“I guess that was a stupid question.”

“A little, yes.”

“…”

“…wait. Piracy?”

“Of course. I obtain media illegally all the time.”

“Oh, that’s a relief. Really?”

“No.”

---------

It had been hours. Now he was worried.

He would deny it for the rest of his bony life, of course.

---------

The O’Neils had passed from shock to exhausted complacency back to a growing urgency the more time passed, and Hueso found himself wishing Leonardo did not know portal magic, because then he would perhaps have an address for delivery that he could pay a visit to. April was not answering her phone. Leonardo was not answering his. Mayhem had failed to reappear. Something had clearly gone amiss and, aside from the humans growing more agitated in his dining room, Hueso’s mind was filling with terrible images of dead teenagers. Or zombie teenagers, or—

They were good customers. They paid well. That was his only concern.

(He was lying to himself.)

The chamomile tea had been swapped out for spirits; just enough to settle nerves, because he wasn’t about to have two agitated and drunk humans on his premises. As it was, they were both back at the table, Carol tapping an uneven rhythm on the table with her fingers and beginning to stare off into the middle distance, and August kept glancing between Hueso and the walls of his establishment. Perhaps he was wondering whether there was a secret door he could find if he looked hard enough. Unless he suddenly developed mystic vision, unlikely.

Their growing fear was perfectly understandable. He felt a little like he was harmonizing with them. Hueso leaned against his counter, tapping at his phone, and sighed.

“Ten minutes,” he said quietly. “I will call again. If I hear nothing…”

…if he heard nothing, he did not know what to do. Did he just blindfold them until he could turn them out onto the street, let them go scurrying back home to a potentially tragic scene? He pondered visiting the apartment himself, but there was precious little point to it; not this late in the game. He’d left his swashbuckling days well behind him in any case.

“Ten minutes and we leave,” Carol said flatly, knuckles whitening as she curled her hands on the table. “One way or another.”

Hueso gritted his teeth for a moment, fighting back a withering response. She was within her rights, and he had already said he would not be a jailer. There was very little else he could do about the situation, and it frustrated him.

Leonardo needed to call back right now and make a terrible joke at him, so he could yell at him for his terrible sense of humour and his terrible Spanish and for worrying April’s parents, and then he could wash his hands of the whole thing and go home to sleep in relief. (He thought perhaps that if they called back now he might even make them pizza on the house.)

“Ten minutes,” he said, voice quiet. “And then I will escort you off the premises and wish you the best. But give me ten minutes.”

Carol sagged against the table and gave him a watery smile.

---------

Ten minutes later the youngest turtle answered the phone, sounding breathless and cautious, and Senor Hueso thanked every god who might be listening, leaned against the counter, and tried not to panic that it was the wrong turtle.

“Michelangelo. Where is Pepino?” He saw the O’Neils straighten out of the corner of his eye, turning toward him with hopeful faces.

“Yeah, sorry, Senor Hueso! He’s not allowed to have his phone right now, kind of doctor’s orders.”

“He is concussed?” His alarm rose. “Did the zombies hurt him?”

“Zom--? Oh! No! No, he wasn’t there for that, this was, uh, earlier.” Mikey was quiet for a moment, then spoke even more brightly, but Hueso could hear the strain underlying it. “He’s okay, promise! Just gotta rest up, that’s all. Do you want me to take a message for you?”

Earlier probably meant during the invasion itself, and many people were hurt in the upper city—he wondered now if he should have perhaps reached out to Leonardo and his family to offer them sanctuary on the other side of the lockdown. There was nothing he could do about it now, so he moved on, trying to keep his voice level. “No. If he is hurt, leave him be. Please tell me you know where April O’Neil is.”

“…yeees?” He sounded confused. “Why would you—OMIGOSH.” Hueso jerked the phone away from his ear. “And you know about the zombies. Are the O’Neils with you?”

“They are here, yes,” he snapped. “And they are very stressed and eating me out of house and home.”

He heard August protest softly from across the room. “Hey, now—“

“Oh, don’t be like that, you big softy.” The strain was gone from Mikey’s voice. Now he just sounded utterly relieved. “No way you didn’t just feed them yourself out of the goodness of your bones. But that’s great! We didn’t know where Mayhem had taken them, April’s been really worried.”

“She is safe?”

“Safe and sound.”

He glanced over to the O’Neils and gave them a slight nod, and then turned away again as Carol gave a small, aborted sob. “Then if you please, Michelangelo, put her on the line? I will hand the phone over to Mr O’Neil.”

“You got it, BM.”

August was already standing, a hand on his wife’s shoulder. Hueso handed him the phone.

Then he vanished back into his kitchen, shutting the door behind him and eyeing the oven and what ingredients he had. Pizza; nothing fancy given they were closed, but if he wasn’t mistaken, he was about to have more guests. And baking them would give him something to do far, far away from the two humans currently having a breakdown in his front room.

Soon, they would all be gone and he could go home and things would return back to some version of normal.

(The only thing he was relieved about, of course.)

---------

April arrived via ostentatious pink portal, bruised and scuffed and accompanied by the Hidden City’s Most Wanted and promptly threw herself into her parents’ arms, both of whom seemed far too overjoyed to see her to remark on the way she arrived and the company she was keeping.

Hueso stared at Draxum.

Draxum stared back, arms folded.

Hueso dumped a stack of pizza boxes on the counter and sidled off to his hallway while the joyous reunion was happening (“Baby, your face!”), and carefully yanked a Wanted poster off the wall, crumpling it in one hand.

There was quiet for a moment. And then he heard Carol, voice heavy with disbelief.

“Barry?”

“Hello, Carol.” Draxum was extremely casual, examining his knuckles.

“But you—but he--you used a—you’re our neighbour!”

Dios mio. Hueso would pretend he never heard that. Instead, he strolled back up, rumpled paper carefully shoved into a pocket. “Carol, please do not tell me you somehow thought he was human.”

“I could pass for human,” Draxum grumbled.

“Ah, yes, because human legs all bend the wrong way like that.”

“Yeah, okay, enough,” April interrupted, voice small, still latched onto her father as Carol examined her bandaged nose. “Mom, uh, I’m guessing we really need to talk, so—“

“You do, and I would like to sleep,” Hueso said, shoving his stack of carefully prepared pizzas into Draxum’s empty arms. To his credit, the caprid yokai merely took them with a long-suffering look and then promptly used them to hide his face. “And I am so done with revelations tonight. Please have any further life-changing conversations somewhere that is not my restaurant. We are, after all, closed.”

April grinned tiredly at him. “Sorry. But thanks, Senor Hueso. I appreciate it, I know it was…a lot.”

Ah. Well. He softened, just a little. “You are welcome. Just do not make a habit of either visiting after hours or zombie attacks.”

“Thaaat, I think we can do.”

“So you say,” Draxum muttered dryly, and then glared as April kicked him in the shin.

“None of that, Barry. C’mon, Portal Express. Can you take us to, uh, Central Park?”

“If I must.”

“Wait,” August interrupted, eyeing the portal that was still open with no small amount of nerves. “Do we have to go through that?”

Whatever the answer was, Hueso didn’t care to hear it. He swept into the kitchen and snapped the door shut behind him decisively, wiping down the counters. He didn’t care if Draxum bodily dragged them through the portal at this point; he just wanted to return to the quiet evening he had been looking forward to before all this.

That being said, he would admit to himself he was glad that everyone had turned out to be okay. Well. Minus Leonardo, who was apparently hurt badly enough that he wasn’t allowed to have his phone this many days after the invasion. But Michelangelo said he would be fine—

He paused in his cleaning to dash a quick text off to the boy, and then finished closing down his kitchen in peace.

---------

BoneMan: Pepino. When you are entirely done lazing around, please call. You still owe me a shift for the restaurant damage, you can’t get out of it that easily.

He might care a little.

---------

(He returned to the dining room later to wipe down the table and found a folded serviette with words scrawled on it in what looked like lipstick, and he flipped it over to read.

Thank you for everything. We’ll tell no one.

- Carol

Well.

They seemed like decent people. Perhaps he would see them again.)

#rottmnt #rottmnt fic #no rest for the weary #nekotsuki #prompt #warning this is LONG #can I write a short prompt? probably not #OH WELL #Hueso is trying very hard to Not Care #he may be failing a little #also he doesn't get paid enough for this honestly

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