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@modmimi-blog
❛ if you want to go fast, go alone. if you want to go far, go t o g e t h e r .❜
indie fandomless multi-muse OC blog est. Feb 14, 2017.
formerly heymickey, modmimi, etc.
12 muses total.
9+ years of RP experience, 4 on tumblr.
multi-ship & verse
selective
friendly to most any fandom! OC friendly.
rules | muses | ask
The past half an hour or so had been characterized by interactions with the road crew; they had offered Dave drinks, pointed him to the snack table, and pointedly dismissed his offers at helping them set up. The whole dynamic was still new to him, as much as everything else about this budding chapter of his life was. Dave came from humble, chaotic beginnings, after all; he was a veteran of the D.C. punk scene, where doing everything yourself was a testament to your AUTHENTICITY. You wrote, recorded, and performed your own music– you were your own roadie, sound technician, and bus driver. You made your own promotional posters. Sometimes you put together the sleeves of your album by hand. Not to mention, the matter of necessities like food and a place to sleep were often secondary to the cause; his dinners were often comprised of stolen heads of lettuce from the produce section at the grocery store. Now– with these full tables of produce, bread, and soda– stealing his dinner was a thing of the past.
True to form, he stood beside the table of food with a can of Coke in one hand and a kiwi in the other. In the midst of debating how he should go about eating this kiwi, he felt a tap on his shoulder, one which ultimately signaled him to look beyond the table of food and to the petite young lady waving at him. Without delay the kiwi was forgotten, and Dave waved back, gesturing for Mimi to come and join him.
“HEY!” He eased his way between the crew and other persons walking hurriedly around. A relief settled in his chest seeing that this had all worked out; nobody had let the wrong MTV personality in, nor had she gotten spooked by the burly men lugging amplifiers around, although her face said she was certainly getting there.
“– you want something to drink? All I’ve been doing is fuckin’ hanging out at the snack table so far.” He grinned and held up the kiwi, still locked in his grip. “Also been tryin’ to figure out how to cut into this motherfucker. I put too much trust in the plastic silverware. Broke two knives already.”
As she watched him move toward her, Mimi was thankful she was not going to have to navigate through the small crew backstage herself. As much as she hated to admit it, she was nearly short enough to get lost within what was, essentially, an o c e a n of hired help. She was used to stagehands, but never ones strong enough to drag this kind of equipment along. Though, she had to remind herself that they were not there for her, simply doing their job. Eyes fell upon a particular man who lugged an amplifier along as if it were a handbag, and quite honestly she was a tad amazed. Her focus remained there until Dave was in front of her, and she smiled instead.
“Hey!”
Greetings first, always. There was no desire to dive straight into conversation without that, it was rude, and she had learned this lesson from a particular incident on one of her shows. She had seen a member of a band, whose name had long since been changed at least seven times, receive copious amounts of feedback ( as it’d kindly been called ) for not at first greeting her before diving into their interview. She had never wanted to be on the receiving end of such behavior.
The question was considered for a moment, and with a glance over to the snack table, she gave a nod. “Yeah, actually, if it’s cool that I take something.” Then, she looked to the kiwi he held up. “Two knives? Jeez.” She chuckled a little. “Here, I can open it if you want.”
With the little fruit in hand then, she led the both of them back over to the table. Considering her diet consisted of ninety-percent fruit, she was rather familiar with doing something so simple. Whether she had been at lunch in school as a teen, or just been too lazy to go and grab a knife as she had been only yesterday, figuring out how to open fruit without silverware had been her way of adapting, she supposed. It wasn’t like she had many other talents. With that thought, she laughed a little, to herself this time.
At the table, she set a napkin down before she set the kiwi there as well. All too easily, she pressed into the side of the fruit, efficiently breaking it before she slowly tore it into halves. Putting both halves back down on the napkin, she gestured to it. A silent ‘ta-da!’.
“There, see? Then you can, like.. Squish it out or use a spoon.”
“Good,”
( HE DOESN’T BOTHER GOING BACK UPSTAIRS, INSTEAD SETTLES ON THE COUCH AND WAITS, PHONE PRESSED TO HIS EAR. She’s coming, he knows that, but now that he’s talking to her he wants her to be there now. Call it impatience, call it neediness, whatever– he’s a grown man pining for attention, pathetic. But STILL– he wants Mimi to be there. Selfish. Selfish, selfish, selfish, and he probably would’ve hit himself if she hadn’t been able to hear it through the speakerphone. )
“Theeey do that? That’s… that’s amazing… I neeeeed to see them myself. I bet they’re perfect. I need to learn how to make them so I can bake for Rodney… not that he has any trouble eating baked goods aaanyhow…”
( A weak chuckle passes his lips, and suddenly there’s a pawing noise against the phone, a hushed ‘no you can’t take my phone’. )
“III guess he came to say hello - he knooows his name by heart now, haha.”
Between the drive and her ever growing excitement to see her friend ( alongside her ever present worry for him ), the trip feels as if it takes no time and she’s nearing his house before she knows it.
“Yeah. I know how to make cat-treats thanks to my mom. I bet Rodney’d like them a lot if he likes regular baked stuff.”
There’s a pause as she hears the little shuffling against the phone, and Mike’s quiet speaking to what she assumes to be the raccoon in question. She smiles at that. While still uneasy around the animal, she’s nowhere near as frightened as she may have been to remember that he would be around.
“Does he? That’s cute. Smart guy.”
Eventually she comes to a stop outside of Mike’s home, phone plucked up out of her lap as she turns the car off and takes the key from the ignition.
“I’m here.”
“That’s not veeery safety ed. of you,”
( –MIKE COMMENTS. Nevertheless, he doesn’t argue with her decision to keep him on the line, especially when he feels so disgruntled and horrible. With a shift, he himself stands up, goes to unlock his front door, all while the phone is still pressed to his ear via his shoulder. He has to do it a certain way; twist, twist, twist, unlatch– then open the door and close it again, to check it’s really open. Some quirks are irreversible. His door habit is one of them. )
“Just keep your eeeyes on the road. Put me on speaker?”
( He really doesn’t like the idea of his best friend’s complete focus not being on the road, even if it’s late and hardly anybody is about. The principle is the same, even if the situational circumstances aren’t. )
“We can bring ouuur pets, too. They’d like a cafe, wouldn’t they?”
“Yeah, well, never said I was very safety ed in general.”
In the car a moment later, the doors are locked immediately behind her and she starts it up. Heeding his advice, she puts him on speaker and rests the phone in her lap while she backs out and begins the drive. Just to ease his nerves;
“You’re on speaker.”
Turning on to the road, she nods. She figures Bubbles wouldn’t care where he went, as long as he could sleep there. Rodney... Well, she hasn’t interacted with the raccoon too many times, but he’s a curious boy. He’d appreciate the cafe, she’s sure.
“Bet they would. I’m sure they’d like a little vacation. Y’know, they make the cuuutest little pet-friendly cakes ‘n stuff in some parts of Japan, I bet they’d like that too.”
“We should go one day soon,”
( –MIKE REITERATES. Hating to be pushy but not knowing any other way to deal with the building tightness in his throat. He’ll be okay - he just needs somebody he can trust around him, and as Mimi opts to come and see him he all but becomes a believer in God. Nodding frantically before he realises - and somewhat to his relief - that he cannot see her. )
“I–III mean… if you don’t have anything else on. You could come, I’ll… I’ll leave the door unlocked for you?”
“Tell you what, my dad gets free flights sometimes, we’ll look into those because he barely uses them unless he needs to. I’m sure there’s one within the next few weeks or something.”
She explains this while she puts on proper clothes and grabs her keys, making sure Bubbles is secure and has food and water to pick from at his leisure before she’s heading downstairs. Mimi pulls the phone away from her for a moment as she yawns. Once she has, she informs;
“Yeah, I’m gonna leave now.”
Shoes are slipped on and jacket is grabbed before she’s headed for her car. She’ll be quick about it, the dead silence of the night a tad unsettling while she’s alone.
“Do you mind if I keep you on the phone while I’m driving? Just in case.”
“Just–”
( NO MORE WORDS. No confessions about how he’d blurted the first thing that came to mind that wasn’t about decapitating himself, or walking on subway tracks with his headphones on and his eyes covered by his beanie. Nothing about death, hurt– MIKE doesn’t want to upset her. )
“I was just, like… thiiinking about it. They’re a–adorable, don’t you think? We could see… lots of Stripes and Bushies and Purries… they might have some dogs over there too, mightn’t they?”
( Animals are safe - he likes animals. )
“Yeah. I like the idea. We should go one day.”
A small smile finds her as she leans back in her chair, headphones now discarded and project saved - ten times at least - before she backs away from the screen. Legs pull up as she curls into her seat. This all sounds lovely, but it’s so u n u s u a l.
“I’d hope they have dogs. Maybe little Shibas.”
She wonders if maybe he needs something. He’s skirting around something with this animal cafe idea, she knows it. Knows him too well. She’s got an idea soon enough. As the time nears three-thirty, she spins her chair around to stand.
“I feel like we could talk about this a little easier in person - if you’re really wanting to go... I can’t sleep, so maybe I could come see you? If you don’t mind me invading at three in the morning.”
“Weee’ll talk more in the morning, friends.”
( HE ABANDONS THE ROOM. Any more time looking at them makes him feel worse. More stupid for not thinking it through, and more terrible for all of their situations. Regardless of who had been treated ‘the worst’, it doesn’t matter to him. All of the actions had been abhorrent, enough to make him storm into that God-forsaken place without a plan– which is exactly what he’s trying to compensate for now. )
( Computer is switched on, laptop flipped open. With any luck, he can locate any kind of foster or care service that is willing to undertake new children. They may be separated… but isn’t that the least of their worries? He’d feel bad deconstructing a family of sorts, but to have a family built on abuse and pain isn’t particularly the healthiest thing in the world anyway. Maybe it would do them good to separate, even if the initial pain and fear of it would cause them a lot of distress. MIKE doesn’t know - he doesn’t work with children, and he doesn’t care to. )
( Mindless trawling through the web, mind only half aware of sites he’s accessing (and of course he’s incognito, despite his top-notch security) as he reads page after page of information regarding adoption. They can’t stay here, as much as he wants to help; he doesn’t have the resources, nor the patience to be dealing with children. )
( He would have continued to search the entire night had he not felt the air in the room shift. Head turns, eyes locking onto the small girl from before. A tense moment of silence before he slides the lid of his laptop closed, spinning on his chair to face her. He’s neatly folded in it, ankles crossed, black boots still firm on his feet. Black everything, come to think of it– it makes him feel anonymous. There’s safety in anonymity. )
“…you’re still awake.”
( A glance at his digital clock on the night-stand accompanies the matter-o-fact statement. What a strange child, up at these hours of the night. Him, a devoted insomniac and worker, finds himself doing things through the whole day, night, whatever… but this kid…? Oh, she should have been long dead to the world by now. )
“…are you hungry? Dooo you need to drink? What do you need…?”
( MIKE doesn’t find himself irritated with her silent presence, more so confused. Is she content to just stare at him? And if so, why? )
By then, most of the other children have succumb to their e x h a u s t i o n. Huddled together and all sleeping soundly, without the fear of being awoken to being dragged along to an unknown room. Without the fear of waking up to another day in what they would consider, had they all correctly grasped the concept, Hell.
All except Mimi.
She’s instead sat cross-legged aside her friends, hand still holding to Lou’s now limp one as he snores quietly. She has tried to lay with him, get at least some sleep, but she cannot find any comfort. Despite her own tired feeling, each time she closes her eyes, the small girl is overridden with anxiety, overloaded with thoughts of what may happen. There isn’t any way she’ll sleep for awhile. There’s no sense in sitting, virtually alone in the dark, and she decides to wander.
The house is just as silent as she, and she’s assumed that the man who owns it has fallen asleep as well. She is proven wrong upon finding him, alone, computer in front of him as he seems to work upon it with great focus. She finds herself staring, unable to find words. She has none for him, there isn’t much to say. It isn’t long before he finds her there, and he is the one to initiate their conversation.
He questions her needs and she considers her options for a moment. Truth be told, she’s famished. She’s parched. She’s all kinds of exhausted and dare she say sad, but she continues to stare at him. What does she need? That’s a good question. Eventually, an answer to his questioning comes, though it most likely will not help him anywhere.
“Can’t sleep.”
( HE DOESN’T CARE THAT IT’S 3AM, HE HAS TO CALL HER. Phone collected from his bedside table, he clicks on Mimi’s familiar number and lets it dial. If she doesn’t pick up, then damn it, he’s calling again. )
“Mimi,” “Mimi,” “Mimi,” “Mimi,” “–Mimi.” “Mimi…”
( He hesitates. I need you. He hesitates again. I don’t want to be alone right now. And again. I need you to stop me from doing something stupid. )
“…we should go to Tokyo. Tooooo an animal cafe.”
That irritating zzt. zzt. zzt. of a silenced phone is enough to pull her out of activity. No, she isn’t sleeping, she’s got work to catch up on. A quota to meet. She’ll sleep when it’s over with. That’s been the schedule lately. Work now, sleep w h e n e v e r. She’s exhausted, but headphones are dropped to rest around her neck as soon as she sees the name light up her screen. Editing can wait. This is the priority.
She’s quick to pick up, and hears her name, even raises a brow at the sudden suggestion. That... Isn’t normal. She checks the time.
What could be wrong?
“..An animal cafe?”
She questions it, sounding more amused by the idea than anything. If he’s serious at all, it sounds like a nice idea. The only problem is getting there. A moment of consideration before she speaks again;
“Tokyo’d be pretty. What gave you that idea?”
“Now listen–”
( THANKFULLY FOR THE BOTH OF THEM, THE MAN DOESN’T GET TO FINISH. He’s grateful for the interference from somebody she finds more trustworthy, somebody who is able to coax her up the stairs before he really loses his shit. That wouldn’t have been good for him, would it? Proving to her that she had nothing to fear… by getting into a temper-tantrum as ferocious as any angry child’s? MIKE barely resists the urge to slap himself on the forehead. Stupid. )
( As if to respect that tangible sense of fear, he waits until they’ve completely scaled the stairs and instructs them all to ‘wait there’ as he departs from the bathroom to the closet at the end of the hall once he himself is up. Towels, an abundance of them - mainly to do with L.A’s extensive beaches, and how he doesn’t like to be short on anything - are emptied into his arms. Once he brings them in, he sets them on the floor, watching some of the more evidently grateful children stare at them; as if they’ve never seen anything as soft in their lives. Maybe they haven’t. )
( The invitation to bathe is met with blank faces, nine (or at least eight, for he doesn’t know where Mimi’s lie) sets of eyes staring at him. MIKE shifts uncomfortably, shuffling past a few of them in order to turn the tap on. A black hand runs underneath it, showing them that it is regular water, nothing to fear, and some of them look more eager. He divides them as best he can, settles them into groups of two (save for the youngest one, who begs him to help her - needless to say his eyes are on the side of the bath the entire time). By the time seven of them are finished, the bath is filled with grime and muck all kinds of questionable sources, and he sets to work cleaning it out in preparation for the next two. The boy, and the fighter– will they go together? Of course, they’re opposite genders, but Mimi seems to disarm when around him… they’re little kids, they might not care. He decides to leave it up to them, turning to them with a look of complete softness. )
“Listen. Everything’s clean. There’s soap and… aaand wash-y things you can use. Believe me when I say it’s okay to use them. I’m… you can divide yourselves how you want. If you don’t need any help, I’m gonna trrry and set up some kind of bed. Okay…?”
( Whether the information is going in or not, HARMON doesn’t know, but he decides to slowly stand himself up straight again, running a hand through his hair before he turns on his heel and moves to his bedroom. Kids wrapped in towels follow him like ducklings following their mother, looking up at him as if in some kind of trance. Evidently wary, but more than keen on the idea of care. Reaching into his drawers, he begins to search for anything that can be used as a substitute for the dirty clothes they’d come in, eventually managing to ‘dress’ the girls in his shirts (to be used as nighties of some kind) while he searches for some form of cover for the one boy who is doing God knows what in his bathroom. )
( Blankets are arranged on his floor, as thick and warm as possible, and he guides the children to lie down next to one another. It’s almot heart-breaking how they all seem to curl together, staring up at him as if waiting for him to turn on them, straddle them two at a time and force them to do horrible things… it makes him turn away from those imploring gazes. )
“Just… go to sleep. Everything’s gonna be oookay. Promise.”
One hand holds tightly to her friend’s hand, the other squeezing the fistful she’d taken of her own shirt, sopping, and by now, freezing. She watches as the lot of them are stood in the bathroom and told to wait. Her eyes are rested upon she and the boy’s - Lou is his name - hands, more so on their shared marks. Rope burn at the wrists, nail marks up and down their arms, no doubt more of them along both of their tiny bodies in addition to all else they have endured. Mimi is aware that Lou does not remember where he has gotten some of his scratches. He has repressed so much, though she doesn’t know there is a word for his ‘lost’ memory.
Lost in her thoughts, she continues to stare downward as the group is provided with towels, encouraged to bathe. The group is eager and it takes no time for the bunch of them to be cleaned. She notices that this man has taken the time as well to assist the youngest of them all. He averts his eyes and she comes from the experience unscathed. This particularly has Mimi relaxing, just the slightest bit. Lou squeezes her hand as she finds herself feeling disconnected, and it brings her back into the world.
Perhaps this isn’t as bad. Though she’s still very unsure.
The two are silent as the man cleans the tub for the both of them. Never something anyone had done for them before. They remember clearly, the both of them, being left to bathe in the cold m u c k of the other children. First come, first serve they’d been told. There had been many fights over who would receive the warmest and cleanest of the water, but it seemed there would be none of that today. They would have fresh, clean water for the first time in y e a r s.
He is through and Lou listens carefully as he explains to them what is there, and that they may use what they need. Mimi’s eyes remain lowered, glaring at the floor. Despite his soft tone, soft demeanor he’s put on for them all, her perception is clouded. She simply waits for the rest of the children to follow him out, and she and Lou do bathe with one another. A habit, if anything. She cannot read, so he is the one to pull the correct soaps and shampoo and such out for them to use.
Once they are finished, Lou gives the bath a rinse before they grab towels, as he’d seen the man do. Mimi stands nearly still, eyeing the bathroom’s features and structure. It’s clean. Bright. It even smells nice now, thanks to the soap they’ve all used. It’s...
Comforting.
She waits until Lou has toweled up and hand in hand again they head in the direction of the other children, met with them all in oversized shirts, laying down upon makeshift beds. They huddle together, as they are adjusted to. They had never been given separate sleeping spaces, they were lucky to have this only if left behind by a customer. Stepping further into the room, she eyes the group, as if to check upon them wordlessly. A few return her gaze while the others’ eyes remain on Mike, unsure if sleep is truly the best idea.
( HE IS NOT A FATHER FOR A MULTITUDE OF REASONS: first and foremost, he doesn’t like children that much, followed by the harsh second point being that he doesn’t know how to handle them. Kids are unpredictable. They are often bratty, and crass, and high-maintenance, and unpredictable. It’s all MIKE can do to not lose his temper then and there. Can’t she see he’s trying to help her? He’s not a monster, can understand her distrust, but the others had managed all right, hadn’t they…? )
( Hands clasp in front of him and his face adopts a curious frown; one he forces not to turn into an annoyed twitch of his mouth so as to keep her as unafraid as possible. )
“You’ll catch cold if you don’t,”
( –the hacker informs her, far too businesslike to be comforting. He tries again. )
“Wouldn’t want you geeetting sick now. Colds aren’t fun.”
( He gestures to the stairs once more, hoping to coerce the defiant child into scaling them. Again, HARMON can understand her distrust - after all, upstairs, to the average person, is associated with sex, is it not? - but it should be painfully evident that he is not, in any shape or form, anything like those filthy predators. For starters, he’s offering them shelter, a warm place– they’d been in nothing but rags, ankles and wrists showing signs of rope burns. He can only imagine what these young sufferers have been through… )
( He bends down slightly, tries to look as friendly as possible. )
“Look– we’re the same, you and me. You want to get out of that situation, I want you out of it too. Seeee? We want the same things. But it’s not gonna work well if you don’t let somebody take care of you, see? You’ve got to let me help you, kid.”
There’s his reasoning. To rational mind, perhaps it would make a little more sense, but this only makes her cross her arms. There’s a momentary wince as her rash action b a c k f i r e s, and she presses an injured wrist against the crook of her elbow. She’s quick to recover, taught never to make faces. She isn’t allowed. Stone faced once again, she stares back at the man. Would she catch cold? Perhaps. Had that stopped anything else before? No, it hadn’t.
As he bends down a tad to speak to her, she steps back a noticeable amount, back lightly bumping against the door. A glance behind her proves that she had forgotten exactly where she’d been standing.
Again, there’s a reasoning behind his action. He wants to help her. God knows how many times she’s heard variations of the same. Things will help, they’re for her own good, they’re taking care of her. While she doesn’t sense the same vibe from him as she had the others who had surrounded her for so long, she simply cannot bring herself to trust him. Mind refuses. Broken patterns of childish thought will never associate things the same way again.
Again, a little more defiant than the last time;
“No.”
He cannot help her. From all angles she knows how, she has observed the very thought of this ‘help’. He cannot be trusted. There’s nothing to prove him worthy, not yet. She’s unsure if there ever will be.
Though she is so adamant about remaining in place, the same boy from before has broken into their interaction silently. There’s a solution here, he knows there is. He knows how she feels, and is willing to coax her away and along with them. He simply wants to be dry and comfortable, and as of right now, Mimi is only hindering that process.
Gentle hands grasp at one of hers while she glares at the man before her. Her gaze softens when it shifts, looking to the boy, though her eyes fall first to the rope burn around his wrists, awful in comparison to her own and in need of attention at some point. She frowns again as she looks to his face.
“C’mon, Mim.”
It’s a single phrase, uttered with a slight crack in the boy’s voice. While Mimi may not trust this man, she’ll give her life for the other children. The two stare at one another, the other children watching them with wide eyes, the half of them still amazed she had dared stand up and refuse the help. Slowly, her arms drop and she takes the boy’s hand, another glare shot Mike’s way as she is reluctantly tugged along to join the group. A glare as if to say, ‘This is for them, not for you’.
( THIS ISN’T HOW HE IMAGINED HE’D BE SPENDING HIS EVENING. Trawling through the streets with nine or so children in tow… it must be an awfully odd sight to any bystanders, especially as they regularly see the man without said children. How is he supposed to explain himself? Perhaps it’s best that he doesn’t. )
( The process had been completed on a complete whim, a moral crusade of sorts. No more planning had gone into it than a silent pang of rage and a torrent of judicial service as he’d marched over there, fully intent on stopping the ‘business’ that night. How he’d succeeded… he’ll never know. Perhaps it was due to the fact that the slimy bastards had several factions with several poor children subjected to the same horrors these were… )
( As he unlocks his door, ushers the frightened children inside, he catches the glare of the last one in and shudders. She’s little, but she looks fierce, and that much strikes a chord in him for it reminds him of how he was when he was young. Hands on his hips, looking at the room now full of shaking children, rain still clinging to their clothes. )
“AAAll right… uh…”
( He pauses, before pointing to the stairs. How the hell is he going to fit all of these kids safely in his house? He did not think this through… that’s what PLANS were for. You break the rules of the planning process, you suffer the consequences. These children are the consequences. )
“Let’s… let’s get you all dry, okay…? Come upstairs.”
With hand clasped tightly to another child’s, she is quiet. Silent, among the terrified, soft murmurs of the others around her. They all wonder to one another, where they’re going, what’s going to happen to them, how thankful they are, and yet... She is dead s i l e n t. A permanent scowl is etched deep into the structure of her expression, though she finds she is not quite angry. She is of course, thankful to be free of her life prior to now ( if that truly is the case ). But... That being said, she is unsure of this man and his plans for them. What could he do with them? She isn’t angry, perhaps curious, but above all,
She is untrusting.
Of course, she follows, if only to make sure her friends, no, family, as she’ll consider them, is not in any danger. She has taken the harshest of their abuse for quite some time now ( aside from a boy, the one whose hand she holds so tightly to, who has fallen victim to even w o r s e than that ), and for any other harm to come their way... She refuses to allow it to happen.
And so, Mimi marches along with the group at the end of the line, rain soaking each and every one of them to the bone. They walk until the man leading the way finally stops at one house, and they are corralled inside quickly. Most of the group is all too thankful for the offer to be dried up and warm. Upon his prompting, almost all of them head for the stairs, except her. She stands still, hesitantly letting go of the hand she’s held to all this time. She is still until she’s the last one standing by the door.
Why would he want them upstairs? Why couldn’t they be dried down here?
Her suspicions get the better of her, resulting in nostrils flaring and eyes narrowing further. In an act of defiance and in a blatant show of her distrust, she’s clearly heard, speaking for the first time in a long while.
“No.”
“I hope he comprehends just how loved he really is someday.”
@ofblackhcnds
“Yeah. I can’t do this today.”
“Alrighty then.”
