The Priest's Son

Julian Rafael Santiago In Father Rafael's Care Stained Glass Guide

[dailydanielbruhl]

[julianrafael]

claudiakillgrave​:

@julianrafael

the candles flicker with the opening of the church door, casting twitching shadows up the wall and into the hidden arches— where angels rested were she in the mood to humor her sister’s turns of phrase. but there were no angels on guard tonight, just the two of them trying to bypass imagery in favor of tangible. after all, she’d never tried the communion wine, and why there was no time like the present. like bible study, movie night, spinning off excuses until there was simply the truth. presence for presence. and a glass of holy wine.

“i’ve never see it like this.” dark, but not simply dark. the eerie cast of peoples’ memories along the walls, the waiting, deep breath of the next morning where it would be full once again. “it’s kind of—” adjectives rotate through, looking for something kind for once. the kind of hesitation that only a glass of jack daniels can buy, jesus waiting patiently on the cross for an answer. “peaceful.”

"Peaceful," he echoes back. His tone is usually questioning, and though a trace of it still belongs, it serves better for a contemplative agreement, even when his eyes take a final stroke over the walls before returning to her. He's gotten the impression she's no strong believer, maybe not one at all, and who is he to say he's much different? Does it make it more meaningful to feel at ease in a church when your faith is lacking, or is the faith there but in a different form, in a different being, more tangible than the symbolism that surrounds them? He shrugs at her, a string of dismissiveness pulling at the limb. "The hypocrites? They're gone. That's why."

The pouring of a different spirit splashes against the eardrums, dark hue into the golden chalice. He's sitting on the steps to the chancel, back turned to the crucifixion that hangs above. So often decorated with Father Rafael's presence during mass, now only remains the one who sits off to the side, watching, helping, ill-fitting of the title of an altar boy, especially with the cup held out for Claudia while the open bottle of whiskey blatantly defies the rites of communion.

"And? This helps."

[julianrafael]

wynnkillgrave​:

she thinks about what he said, really thinks about it. brow is furrowed with the consideration of balance in the world. if there is no kindness received, should it be given. she’s not sure. maybe it differs in each scenario. it must be the same for violence. “do you always have to have that dedication?” it’s a genuine question, only half targeted at his own beliefs. some of it is innate curiosity, the viewpoint differs so far from what she’s been told by all the therapists and psychologists.

“i think she’s too…” the word escapes her. it’s a parallel to nice, but it’s not exactly right. there’s nothing to describe what she thinks of her sister really. but she doesn’t think claudia would kill someone. not really, not even by accident. “i wouldn’t want her to, i don’t think.” maybe that’s more what it is, because even though she keeps throwing the punches it seems like there’s a little piece of her that doesn’t come back from it all the way. “but i would if she’d let me.”

The question isn't expected. He's not taken off-kilter by it, but there is a pause in the orbit of thoughts that circle around him. It leaves his brows stitched together, the needle yanked too tight, causing his eyes to narrow with them before he gives what answer comes to mind. "What dedication? To do what should be done? Always. What else is there?" Does she mean that? Or something more specific of a cause? He doesn't let it fester, the boiling point of his own system of justice sterilizes whatever remnants could. There is nothing else to be added.

So he listens. He listens to her speak of her sister without interruption, only a watchful gaze for anything that might pull the next trigger. There is nothing there for a bullet to count on, and the head cocks back only so it can give her a single nod, one that brings them to an alliance. "Good."

A glance is shot to the closed door, flickering back as soon as it left. "If she doesn't? Tell me."

[julianrafael]

claudiakillgrave​:

“even if they turn out blurry?” searching for an out, trying to find the reason why a deck might fall one short. as if there could be one photo in there that she needed for herself alone, just to be safe. the squeeze in her heart at the notion he’s truly counted. was attention to detail always to expected, should it be thought of as so charmed.

“they don’t need my face.” a little fierce burst, protective over herself or some version of herself. the wondering thought that she might not want to be recognized anywhere for anything if it meant that she could continue this version of her life. “you don’t work for the church?” she didn’t think of his position as a job per-say, but there was something that she would have assumed. that he wanted to help, that this was a safe space. now she was left uncertain. she presumed nothing, she asked nothing of it either— though her gaze lingered, questioning what she knew. “you just know the best angles then.”

"Then? We see the developer," he answers, dead-ending doubt that there will be a problem with the roll of film itself, the images that are exposed onto it, and operator alongside both. "You'll give me all of them," he reiterates with a direct look given, firm in stance, words of promise that have only known the shape of demand. Another ill-footed tone boomerangs back, and the very face that is said not to be needed is continued to be watched. Eyes sharpen, flitting over her features as if searching out for some reason, finding none.

"They don't have the camera." His thumb winds the film, the next frame loaded before his legs unwind from the banister's perch. "I do," he goes on. For now. The possession of the camera is not so much possession as it is borrowing, but it remains in his hold all the same, free to take at least one more. Julian's head gestures easily to the side, a silent tell to follow him away from overlooking the ground floor.

"Why would you think I work for the church?" he asks. "You work for your father? It's the same."

[julianrafael]

wynnkillgrave​:

“it teaches…” she’s searching for a word, mostly because she wants damion to be right. she assumes he is about most things because he’s a good person, and he cares about them. damion wouldn’t make an issue of something that was insignificant, and so there must be a lesson somewhere in there. “civility.” although maybe the lessons weren’t sticking well, as she shrugged off her explanation. “besides, i don’t really care what he thinks.” even if it was mean to say the things that were sometimes tossed at her in the hallway, she’s not sure that particularly makes them true or right. some of them roll right off. but it’s not her sister’s fault for wanting to make sure they don’t get said again. civility. the word echoes around her head.

“i think everyone will remember.” that was the one thing she could say about cloud’s particular brand of violence. but she did not yet know which was the right answer. so she figures they should just finish their father daughter conversation without interruption. “it’ll only be a few more minutes, they’ve got an alright routine.” it’s about just biding time until then now. someone will open the front door for her, and here julian will be. a nice surprise. “i don’t think she could sent them to the morgue. do you?”

"Civility?!" His temper is scratched, adolescence planted on a bed of thorns, never shying away from getting his soles bloodied at the step forward taken. "What civility? Where? If it is not given? There is none to return." He's not mad at her, but the canon is never angry; it's just in its nature to explode when given fire or enough bullshit, whichever is more abundant. In Wynn's case, he settles that it can't be the latter. It never has been for her. It's just enough for him to listen again, just enough not to strip the door off and walk in. "Good. Don't care. But? Don't take that shit. They have something to say? Enough to bleed for it? Make them."

There's a moment's worth of adjustment, lips shifting with the jaw, the steam being let out through the veins. It will be a few more minutes, and in the moment he hears nothing being escalated to give him reason to come in, no more than what is already itching beneath his skin. The tongue clicks against the roof of the mouth in annoyance, patience not a virtue. "Why not?" he questions back, defending what shouldn't be defensible. "You wouldn't do the same for her?" 

[jamesfrancobs-blog]

Daniel Bruhl - The Edukators (2004)

[julianrafael]

wynnkillgrave​:

it’s a good question. she’s not sure that she has the right answer, but she thinks about it for a second while he continues on his own path of logic. “sometimes, it’s not about winning and losing.” she keeps her voice measured like she imagined anna or damion might use when they were trying to explain the point later. the performance ends with a sharp nod, as though once said the persona was lifted and she was back to considering the other questions that he was asking. what outlet would have been better than hitting him? “maybe a stern expression.” the answer would have been a joke from anyone else, but her tone is deathly serious as if it’s just one of the possibilities that might be implemented.

“i don’t always get along with everyone at school.” it wasn’t that she didn’t fit in, really most days passed without any incident in the slightest. but when some people got bored, they found targets. and she wasn’t supposed to start fights, she was still trying to figure out the line where it became just finishing the altercation. “cloud wanted to teach them a lesson.” she was more interested in seeing if it would stick, but she wasn’t going to say that out loud because what if dad heard. then she’d be on the other side of the door right now too, and who would get to talk to julian. “but it’s not really a lesson once the nurse and the principal and all our parents have to get involved.”

"Then? What is it about? She's supposed to take shit? And not do anything about it? He's not angry at the cabron who started it?" He talks as if he knows the details, or even better that he had witnessed the exchange that's caused trouble for Claudia. He has neither on his side, only taking into account what he knows the girl accused herself. Whoever got in the way of her first deserved it, and there's not a flicker of doubt that crosses his mind to shade his opinion. There's barely even any sway when Wynn's words produce the slightest distraction, staring at her incredulously before it simmers back to clicking his tongue to the roof of his mouth in annoyance to the situation. "Bullshit. What does that teach? Nothing."

But what holds more weight, what makes him pause, is what's unexpected: the reason he's believed in before even hearing it. He studies her for a moment before his brows knit together. There is nothing he wouldn't do for his sister, nothing he wouldn't /have done/ for Reina. The fact sticks him like a thorn, living off of the sting that's propelled him this far. "If they didn’t end up in a morgue? It's a lesson. Fuck them. They couldn't learn on their own? That's their problem. Next time? They’ll remember."

[julianrafael]

claudiakillgrave​:

his directions are listened to, although not immediately followed. she’s not a model, she’s never seen herself in front of the lens, and she has no immediate pressing desire to be turned into subject. if the photo turns out and she’s forever immortalized in film, standing in this church, what does that make her? certainly not as beautiful as the architecture aged around them, but perhaps not everything needed to be perfect just yet. some frames given in the name of practice. her hand finally grasps the banister, “i guess there’s only one way to find out.”

chin tips up, gaze tracking to his precarious balance on the ledge of the church. she lingers for a moment, it seems less dangerous than it should when he does it, as though it were the only angle that could be used at this balcony. and finally with that thought, she looks outward— she waits to hear the click of her camera in new hands. the film now bears the trace of two photographers, she cannot say why that might be so important either, thoughts keep sparking. “if you want you can have a set.” it makes sense, after all the church was his too, why shouldn’t he be able to use the photos for them. “if i turn the full way you know it’ll put my face in full shadow, might work better for a brochure.”

She remains in the viewfinder for a moment, image etching in the pupil like old photography would to sheets of tin. Light exposed, color blooming, developed but not distributed, one click following to capture time in a single frame. The camera continues to be held in both of his hands while her offer reaches him before it's lowered down to his lap. His head shifts back against the wall behind him, eyes lingering on her before the slightest movement passes as a nod. "All of them," he tells her, accepting the offer to full capacity, chin tipping up. "The ones you don't think are good enough? Don't throw them away in my set." And just in case there are other plans at the last minute... "I'll know. I counted them."

His vision tightens around the edges, taking in her last remark. Somehow the corner of his lips quirk until they're made to purse, raising her camera again, readying it. "And?" he asks. "If they want one? They can take it. I don't work for the church." Another shot, subject looking at him, a golden shine across her cheek. "You don't want your face to show?"

[julianrafael]

wynnkillgrave​:

she scratched the top of her head, trying to figure out if he was trying a trick question on her. no one really bothered asking who won and lost the fights that they got into, it was more a matter of who started them. they weren’t supposed to start them anymore. “she always wins.” the puzzled expression doesn’t dissipate, trying to understand what he was actually trying to get to the bottom of. she’s never seen concern displayed in such a way, cataloging the flickers as they appear. “dad didn’t say no one deserved it.”

that was the other part that never really mattered. cloud didn’t start fights for fun, she started them because someone tried to push the books out of wynn’s hands, or made a comment that they thought sounded smart but was actually really dumb. there was a zero tolerance policy for dumb around these parts. “we’re supposed to find a better outlet for our emotions.” 

she didn’t move from her position blocking the door. there was really no reason to go inside and interrupt their conversation. “she’s not in trouble. it’ll be okay.” there wasn’t really any reason to assume there would be a problem. it wasn’t the first time this happened, and if she was a betting girl she wouldn’t say it was the last. “they just have to talk.”

"If she won? What is he mad about?" he questioned, close enough to the level of interrogation. Between the two of them, there wasn't a shortage of confusion. While Wynn was hinged on curiosity, Julian's was a powder keg waiting to go off, blowing open the door so he could step through. There was only one barrier to get through and she was sitting right in front of him, blocking the entrance.

"Joder," he spat out. "He knows it was deserved? She's supposed to do what? Nothing? What outlet is better?" Already, his eyes were tightened, scrutinizing every scrap of the conversation that was thrown to him, each piece of information falling into place like rusty nails.

His foot was still on the step, looking down at her, clenching his jaw at her while steam released through the pressure. She's not in trouble resonated, even if it didn't seem like it cleared through his system. Lips shifted before his tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth, annoyance seared into the noise. "You're going to tell me what happened?" he asked, hand waving impatiently. "Or? You're going to move?"

[julianrafael]

wynnkillgrave​:

@julianrafael​

“she’s not here right now.” wynn sat on the porch steps of their house, the conversation that was inside apparently no loner required her participation. and even though she could have just gone to her room, she had a tendency to still hear the dad-cloud debacles, and they weren’t really meant for her ears. so she sat outside, because the right thing to do was to give them privacy. she knew that. anna’d agreed, it was the right thing to do.

“well. that’s a lie.” she looked up at the boy who’d finally come into view. she didn’t know what exactly he wanted, but she could take a pretty good guess. three members of the household, which one could he want to see. “she is here. but she’s being talked to.” there was a stern expression on her face, as though there was no other way to follow through on the conversation. “we’re not supposed to start fights anymore at school.” she elaborated without being asked, operating on the assumption that cloud was going to tell the boy about it anyways. probably. most likely. “there was a mutual agreement.”

He had barely made it onto the walkway from the driveway when Wynn began talking to him, plucking his reason out of his back pocket without blinking an eye. His footsteps slowed, brow furrowing with tightening eyes. Where would she be if not here? Another move closer brought him up on the steps, two beneath where she was sitting, the truth in a brighter light from the new angle. The lack of surprise was evident, but it only reached out as far as where Claudia was, not to why he was being pushed away from seeing her.

"Why? She didn't win?" he questioned, head tilted with annoyed defense. "What else is there to talk about?" And if Wynn was not the one talking to her, that left only one. "He doesn't think who she punched deserved it? Now? She's in trouble? Mierda. Where is he? What room?"

[julianrafael]

claudiakillgrave​:

she stares at the hand that’s been outstretched towards her as if she’s not quite sure what it could mean to come so close to her. logically it’s for the camera, and she will get there, but there’s some beat of hesitation. good rings in her ears, she didn’t realize there was potential for any bad. but she untethers the camera from around her neck, pressing it into his hand with nervous breath. shes giving up her most prized position without even being prompted, he doesn’t have to ask a second time. “you break it…” but she doesn’t finish the statement, doesn’t bother with even wondering if he might. they both know that it’s the most valuable thing in the room right now. and it’s not going to drop. “fine. where am i standing?”

"You think I will break it? After all this?" Her trailing off voice is picked up easily by him, his words fitting into the valley of hers like missing pieces. There isn't as much silence left behind because of it, and his palm is filled with the camera in question before he wears its strap, accepting of its high appraisal, enough to value it over himself. It's part of her, and for the few minutes she's lending it to him, it's also a part of him.

He takes his steps back to the location already scouted out, the end of the railing, turning to have his back face it while his eyes return to her. "Step back," he instructs, waves his free hand off to where he means before patting the banister, the sound being knocked out of the woodgrain by his knuckles. "One hand out. On the banister. Look out. Forward." Claudia's face is coated in amber, the profile outlined by the darker backdrop, defined with the wide angle that he can already tell before he can look through the viewfinder. He needs to be on his perch first. His left hand is on the camera, the right on the railing, one leg over before he's able to straddle the threshold that separates life and death, one inch away from either side.

"When you have them developed?" he starts, back pressing into the wall behind while his heel fits between the spindles, camera raised, focusing on the subject. "You'll show them to me?"

[mea-cuppa]

[julianrafael]

claudiakillgrave​:

“i do.” she’s resolute in her statement, given quick enough that he should know there was no second guessing. she picked what was good in her work, she knew better than to let mediocre photos be hung on the wall in the name of support. there was no reason, not when she could do better. “i think if he had his way the walls would be full.” she softens, ever so slightly with the statement, camera lowered half an inch at the thought presenting itself and taking root. because, she realizes in the moment, that is the complete truth. but there’s nothing more to express. 

tasked with such a new knowledge, she could only find the way to backtrack in her own work. “i have a shot.” but her streak of honesty continues on, there’s no reason in pretending like she knows exactly what she’s captured. it’s not like she’s been actively in charge of all of the elements. a church at sunset is hardly a studio set. “but not from whatever angle you’re thinking.” the taciturn acceptance of his suggestion, not quite taking direction, more accepting suggestion. there was no reason not to take a picture anyways. was she in a particular hurry to leave? “am i going to have to stand on the railing.”

He doesn't know how to take her answers. They land like lead the moment they're in the air, held down by his gravity. He has no reason to believe she's lying, but he doesn't have the experience that supports it to be the truth either. Caught in limbo, he merely watches her for a moment before his lips shift, vague acceptance until there's proof to go against it. After all, wasn't Reina beloved by her father? It is possible. It is. "Good," is his only comment before he turns away, banister held onto by hands and attention alike.

He has one other frame to try for her. For as much time as he's spent in the church, he's had the chance to know the right composition from the right advantage points. It's only her last line that grows the return of a half-smirk before his face is angled back to her. "You think I could catch you? From down there?" Julian's head gestures to the ground, the drop that's well beyond the height of a pew. "This is where your faith is?" But his fingers flex, demanding again for the camera. "I'll take it. That way? It won't drop."

[julianrafael]

claudiakillgrave​:

“i take a lot of pictures.” the question has an obvious answer, fired back quickly in the defense more of damion’s choices than her own art work. she would never let him hang up something subpar, even if he insisted that it was a masterpiece. the shattered glass frames of her first few photos. it was just supposed to be encouragement, but she would never settle. “that doesn’t mean they all need to be displayed.” the harshness of her comment lingers for an extra moment, as though she’s searching to understand why he asked in the first place. she might have completed the thought if not distracted by his hand on the banister.

she finds her place without thought, eye to the camera lens as she leans over the banister, looking at the new angle of light the second level has brought her. there’s a few beats of absolute silence, and then the shutter clicks. “he’s an architect.” the camera is lowered just enough that she can see his face without obstruction, searching for the answer that he was really looking for in his questions. she could feel something lingering, just below the surface, but hadn’t figured out just how to respond. so instead she settles for the obvious, just. “i think the structure of a building, captured well enough, would do great there.”

A sternness seems to be embedded in Julian's facial muscles, implanted from birth or from recent years is debatable, some may even say it could be hereditary; he does not put himself into that category and never will. Whether nature or nurture is to blame, Claudia is watched and listened to in the same rigid light. "Who decides what is good?" he poses, animation of shoulders and head, demanding gestures to understand, to jump to a fight if the answer supports it. "You? Or? Him?"

In a place where the foundation is built on forgiveness, he sticks out like a crack in the wall, even when he's silent and listening, even when his eyes are slowly guided back to her in time to catch Claudia when the camera lowers. He shares the contact with her, attempting to unravel a riddle that doesn't exist. His head nods once in finality before turning to look forward, both hands on the banister to search with at least a new frame of mind towards the work at hand. "You think you have the shot?" he asks, glance thrown to her. "If not?" One of his hands lifts up, palm up, intention clear to take the camera from her. "There's another angle to try."

[julianrafael]

claudiakillgrave​:

“will i?” she hopes it comes off as a joke, although the ever present specter of injury has never quite escaped the peripheries of her thought. it’s easier these days to say that it’s because wynn always picks such morbid documentaries to watch, but she’s not sure that’s entirely the case and it’s not a topic she’s going to broach here of all places. not with him. not when she’s just laughing, and the whole world is a cascade of gold, she can pretend for a few moments that everything is normal and the joke was just a joke.

she follows him without question regardless, something about the leader and disciple, the trusting and the trusted, how great the photos will look from the spot that he’s pointed out. clearly he has an eye for it as well, but she’s not in the business of just handing out compliments either. “i bury them.” it’s a joke, a poor one, given away by the sigh that accompanies it. besides, she likes the truth of it all the same. “no— my dad frames them. sometimes he uses them to decorate too.” 

they pass shrines that a better girl would consider holy, that she might even stop to take in for a moment if not for the stained glass that was awaiting her. and her preoccupied thoughts make their way to the surface one way or another, finding a safer respite as the stairs are climbed. “he’s got an office closer to downtown, i want one good enough to go there.”

He doesn't take her for her word, but there's no laugh that follows either. It simmers in the air, tugging at the brows, a wondering look that lasts only a moment. The remnants that are left behind as the truth is told are there simply because a word like 'dad' is spoken, wrapped around in kind and thoughtful gestures, all of which paint a foreign relationship that not even Father Rafael can mend. Damion Killgrave is someone that has earned the care and trust of his daughter, and he can't fully understand it.

"It isn't good enough that you took it?" he asks, still edged in his lack of comprehension, his own reservations making their rounds. Eyes stay on her in silent thought before he steps over to the edge of the second floor, overlooking the nave of the church, led by scarlet carpeting to the pulpit and altar. It is the same place where he's heard the priest warn about judging others, sometimes during mass, sometimes directly.

"Here." The head tips up, the short gesture for her to follow one more time, hand sliding out across the banister as if making room for her. "He has an office? For what? Art?"

[julianrafael]

claudiakillgrave​:

he has sense. she nods just the once, more a confirmation that she’s heard the words, or at least what they’re supposed to mean. it’s not that she disagrees, but rather she simply doesn’t have enough information to say either way who she might really know. she trusts julian’s words implicitly, with a startling immediacy that makes her question her own judgment more than anyone else’s. she doesn’t know any more about this boy than he knows about her, and all the stories that lurk just under the surface. and still, she doesn’t question the judgement that’s been rendered.

“no. i can manage it.” the teasing rings true, but she still feels some need to prove her own abilities, no matter the task. a little child still crying out that she can do anything just as well as anyone else. she jumps down from the bench, her shoes hitting the cold stone of the church floor with an echo. she’s yet to master being able to quietly do anything, instead she announces where she is at every turn it seems, up the bench in a clumsy manner, back down from it all the same. the camera remains steady though, protected in her own two hands. “show me.”

She jumps down to explore, his legs blocking the path from her until he decides otherwise. It's his invitation, though, presented with a tilted up face before his hands push himself off from his perch at the back of the pew, feet now on the ground. They land barely with any difference in noise, as defiant as the last, more determined in their standing, the purpose of belonging in spite of his religious status in limbo. "Next time? Use them," he tells her, eyes flickering to point out her jump, as if the impact is something tangible to catch, as if the catch by offered hands is the exact point that needs to be made. "If not? You'll twist an ankle. And then? You won't have the choice." The slightest tinge of a smirk is brushed off as his head nods to the side, the direction of where they need to go. "Come."

The entrance is turned through. The small fountain of holy water is passed, viewed to him nowadays as something as commonplace as a coffee table in someone's home. As the stairs are reached, the remainder of light glides through the windows, sprawls out all over the second floor, as if it's the first and last touch of the sun within the entire church. Everything takes on a tawny finish. The pews are turned into golden oak, the carpet is now more orange than red, and the light fixture that hangs above that centers the vaulted ceiling pales in comparison.

"The photos. What will you do with them?"

[julianrafael]

claudiakillgrave​:

“you don’t mean that.” she studied his face or a curious second, trying to place if it really was a jab out of turn or if there’s some hidden truth. she has no reason to suspect that the father is not a good priest. but she doesn’t live with him, and she has no idea what the truth could be. she can’t be the one to say it. her thoughts stutter with the thoughts that were suddenly trying to claw their way out.

“did you want more than one?” the camera is finally set to the side of her attention again as she walks along the bench, getting closer to the details of the glass that she’s been able to capture so far. it seems easier, to focus on the window than look back down and see if she was supposed to be joking or there was another question that she was missing. “you only have so many hands.”

"You know him?" She doesn't. He already knows the answer, but it doesn't mean what he sees in her face. There's natural curiosity, a wonder to what he means by what he says, like she's taken to heart what he's said. He sees what else there could be, and his brows knit together to squash it, shaking his head with it. Father Rafael is the only person left to have his trust, and with it comes his loyalty. "He's good." Simple and direct, no room for interpretation. There's no need to elaborate, but he'd rather spend more time talking to her than in silence. "He has seny." But she doesn't know what that means. No one here but the man in question does, and he will never hear it come from him either. "He has...sense," he explains without being asked to, the closest word he can grasp to what it can translate to.

His eyes follow her, even when her back is turned, her attention through her camera lens, even before she asks her question. She probably doesn't catch how it makes his head tilt up, his turn to look curious at her before his lips form a straight line. "No." The camera shutters, can hear it under her fingers before her voice takes up his hearing again. She manages to tug one corner of his mouth up, breaking the stillness that formed before. "You'll need them to come down?" One of those hands raises, points above them where the second floor overlooks where they are. "Up there? The view is the best."