Her footsteps were slow, body still not quite right after the vicious beating she’d taken. Skin healers saved her life but the sting of it all remained, her body was whole but her mind was still fractured; bleeding. The hall barely echoed with her steps, slight as they were, she didn’t wish to see anyone at present and prayed she could return to her rooms without incident. Apparently the gods had abandoned her further as she collided with none other than the very last person she’d wish to see. Slate Blonos, whose eyes from the arena, her blood on his face, his hands, she would be haunted by for some time.
In her weakened state she crumpled at the impact, unsteady and swaying as she leaned against the wall, close to panting, sweat beginning to form down the spine he crushed with the knives provided. She couldn’t keep the images from flashing through her mind as he struggled to find —well, she didn’t really know or care, she just wanted him to leave her alone so she could focus on trying to heal ( and failing).
The silence between them extended and she could feel sweat dripping down her spine now, wetting the cotton of her simple dress. Her mind raced with horrors, of the things he might spit at her but his demeanor was that of a man afraid, of one timid and unsure and it did not match the sadism she knew him capable of. Perhaps this was his mask and he didn’t even realize it yet, which might be even more terrifying in her opinion.
And then he spoke and the words were wrong, and he was awkward, and her heart was racing with fear. She was alive but she felt like the skin healers had missed something as her hands began to shake. His laugh was unsettling, though in any other circumstance it might have been endearing. The compliment felt like an insult and she offered a terribly weak smile. “How kind.” Her voice trembled without her permission and she couldn’t seem to force herself to say more.
Nyssa looked even less pleased to see him than he felt seeing her. Not that he could blame her in the slightest. The skin healers seemed to have done a decent job with healing her, she was up and moving around without any assistance and it brought a sense of relief to Slate that he didn’t know he was looking for.
She seemed alarmed by his demeanor and he was reminded that they didn’t particularly know each other before their battle. Sure they’d seen each other at various events, they were both from High Houses after all, but that was different. Nyssa wouldn’t know he was awkward with conversation a the best of times, let alone when he was trying to converse with someone he’d literally stabbed in the back not once but twice. It only put more pressure on him to handle this interaction with the kind of poise that would make his mother proud.
Guilt creeped in, along with a particular kind of fear—she was a Samos after all, at the tremble of her voice. He began to wonder if maybe his assumption about the quality of her care had been misplaced. He had done this to her, and his own belief that it was what had to be done didn’t change the fact that he had made her suffer. He’d never thought himself to be an especially violent person, in fact quite the opposite, but what he’d done in the arena was violence nonetheless.
“Is there anything I can do to help you?” He asked, letting the genuine concern he was feeling flood his voice when he normally would have kept himself reserved and impartial. “I’m not a skin healer, but I can fetch you something to eat or have someone draw you a bath? Anything you might need.”
In truth, the thought of going against her mother’s wishes scared Leira when Lady Osanos was alive. Now, forever without her mother’s guidance, the thought terrified her. She swallowed and shook her head. “ I do not think it is the best idea but thank you for the offer. ” A sigh escaped her lips and she blinked tears away. “ I am glad you enjoyed the book so much that it is well used. A well-used book is a well-loved book. ”
“ It is a lovely book series. ” She said simply. “ What other books do you enjoy ? I am a fan of Jane Austen, as of late. My mother rather enjoyed her writing and I can see the appeal she saw in the novels. ”
It seemed offering was the wrong choice in the situation, Leira’s reaction was the opposite of the one he’d been trying to evoke and he wasn’t sure what he’d done to cause it. Slate figured agreeing with her would be more productive than asking questions, even if his natural curiosity was trying to tell him otherwise. “Of course, you’re probably right.” He smiled at her, attempting for a soft, comforting expression. “I could not agree more, nothing shows love for a book like a few cracks in the spine.”
“Lately I’ve been reading the works of William Shakespeare quite a bit. They’re not book in the traditional sense but I’ve found they still make excellent stories. Jane Austen is definitely a favourite of mine.” He replied, accompanied by a slight nod. “I haven’t read any of her novels in a while, perhaps i should do that.”
where: room of silence.
when: april 15th, who knows what time.
status: open.
As the night wears on, Lei finds herself reverting to old habits. She fixes herself against the walls of each room she enters like the wallflower she always has been, weaving her way through the edges of the crowds in search of a calmer environment and less populated corner in which to spend her time. Unfortunately, the combined spectacle of the guests and the party itself seems to make her task nearly impossible until she reaches the one room she’s been working to avoid. As have most of the other Silvers, it seems.
Her competitor’s room is simultaneously comforting and unnerving, the pristine walls providing a backdrop that makes everything stand out and swirl together all at once. Lei can’t tell if she enjoys or despises the lack of electricity that usually buzzes in her ears and surrounds the rest of her family. She is just acutely aware that it is gone, robbed by the room she has decided to stay in. It brings back memories that she would rather not dwell on, like her recent loss and her aunt’s disappointed words from earlier in the night. Lei takes a drink from a passing servant; she isn’t usually one to drink, but she’s going to need it if she is to remain in Prisha’s room.
She settles for a place in the corner, where she can observe the flow of people that undulates like the ocean’s tide. Her drink has only just touched her lips when she notices someone heading towards her. Lei fixes her features in a pleasant expression, her lips turning up in a small smile as she turns in their direction. “A lovely night, isn’t it?” she asks them. “The King has absolutely outdone himself. Have you been enjoying the festivities?”
Slate wondered if the Calores would ever grow tired of the constant partying, but the thought didn’t last more than a minute in his brain before he squelched the idea. Despite his own desire to never attend a party again, Slate wasn’t naive enough to hope for such a future. Instead, he kept himself out of the limelight, only interacting with people that approached him first and drinking just enough to keep himself on the knife’s edge between drunk and sober.
He moved through the crowd, looking for a room that was at least slightly less congested than the rest of the party and finally found solace among the dwindling crowd in the Arven residence. He was surprised to see Lei sitting in the corner, her loss was still fresh in the minds of most of her fellow Silvers, but he was glad too. She was one of the few people he would willingly approach, another person that wasn’t a fan of loud and rambunctious parties.
She didn’t seem upset to see him making his way towards her, and he mirror her smile as he drew close enough to speak. “Lovely is certainly one way to describe it.” He murmured, trying not to actively disagree, it was wonderful as far as parties went. “I’ve been enjoying the drinks, at least.” Slate punctuated his statement with a sip from the glass in his hands. “How about you, Lei? Are you enjoying yourself?”
date. after second battle
location. hallway
status. for @nyssc
If he were to be honest Slate didn’t expect to win one battle, especially not against Valeria of all people, and winning the second felt like he was dreaming and if he was he wouldn’t be telling anyone to pinch him anytime soon. Avoiding his parents hadn’t been easy, it seemed like every time he went in a room they were already there waiting for him, but he’d managed, averting yet another conversation about how what he was doing was a mistake and an embarrassment, as if the sixtieth conversation would do what the other fifty-nine hadn’t. All he wanted was time alone, away from all the eyes on him, he realized that he probably should have considered that before signing himself up for an event such as Crownstrial, but it was too late to change anything about it.
He wasn’t sure where he was going, letting his feet move of their own accord as he tried to sort through everything that was going, and continued to go, on. It was a lot to process, and he began to wonder if there was a socially acceptable way for him to get in touch with Nyssa, to see how she was after he’d brutalized her in the arena. He’d lost himself in ideas, throwing out each one almost as soon as it formed for reasons varying from just being overall inappropriate to being downright impossible, when he slammed into someone coming around a corner.
For the split second it took him to stabilize himself and get a good look at the figure he’d bumped into his mind filled with panic, worried he’d collided with someone important or—even worse—one of his parents. When he realized it was Nyssa he let the tension building in his shoulders release, until he remembered the last time he’d seen her he’d had a knife firmly planted in her back and her blood covering his hands. It wasn’t a fun image, and he could only imagine what it would be like to be on the other side of that.
Slate searched for the right thing to say, the proper thing to say. Not “I’m sorry.”—because he wasn’t really, she’d have done the same to him, maybe worse. And not “Are you okay?”—because that just sounded dumb and immature, they had skin healers of course she was okay and asking wouldn’t change that. Generally he was horrible at conversation, he was too wrapped up in his own thoughts to be of great company to anyone that didn’t want to listen to whatever it maybe be that he’d latched onto as of late, but he knew that the longer they stood around in silence the worse whatever he said would sound so he decided to throw caution to the wind and wing it.
“I’m glad you’re alive.” The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could think about them, and he felt his own eyes widen with horror at the connotation behind his statement. “Not that I expected you to die, that would be preposterous.” He gave an awkward laugh, hoping to diffuse the new tension. “You fought very well, it was an honour to step into the arena with you.”
As a child, reading never interested Leira Rather, she wanted to run and play and climb trees, like she imagined Emory had done as a child. However, Lady Osanos remained adamant that a lady’s job was not to run around and run perfectly good dresses. Instead, ladies were to learn etiquette and to smile. After her lessons. she turned to books to give her the adventure she craved.
“ My mother— ” With a slight grimace, she continued, “ She was wary of Frankenstein. She never allowed me to read the novel, althoughI do often hear high praise of it. Perhaps I will find a copy to read. ” Although, she doubted it, In twenty-one years, she hadn’t yet found the courage to say no to her mother and in the aftermath of her mother’s death, the odds of her goring against anything her mother said lowered to next to nothing,
She paused for a moment, mentally going through the catalog of books in her mind.“ I rather enjoy the Percy Jackson novels. ” Quickly, desperate to justify what seemed like an immature choice, she added, “ The aspect of adventure is truly fun despite the juvenile aspects of the book. And there is also the matter of the realism the characters hold. I am rather intrigued by Percy Jackson’s powers, also, given the similarities between his and my family’s. ”
Slate recognized the look on Leira’s face with ease, but didn’t press her for details. He knew her well enough to know that if she wanted to talk about something she’d bring it up herself, and in light of everything that had happened he didn’t want to say or do something that would upset her. “I have a copy you can borrow, if you’d like.” He offered, the polite thing to do in the situation. “It’s well used, which isn’t surprising considering the amount of times I’ve read it, but it is still in good condition.”
“I can see how that would interest you.” He replied with a nod, closing his book to indicate his own interest in the conversation. He searched his mind to find the information on that particular series. He knew he’d read them, but not recently. “It’s been quite a while since I read them, but I do remember enjoying the sense of adventure they had. I think everyone looks for something different from the books they read, but adventure is something everyone can enjoy.”
DATE. march 22nd | LOCATION. gardens | STATUS. open
The crownstrial broadcast had come and gone and had taken the entirety of Slate’s admittedly meager self-confidence with it. Re-watching his interview he could pick out all the little things he should and could have done differently, all the things that could be tweaked just a little to make him seem like a better choice, a stronger choice, but it was far too late to do anything about it. However, t wasn’t far too late for the look in his parents eyes, a swirling mixture of disappointment and anger and something akin to worry but not quite there, like they couldn’t bring themselves to truly care.
It was suffocating, and Slate found himself wanting nothing more than to not think about the future for a while. So he slipped out, book in hand, heading for the gardens since logic told him that his parents would look in the library first when they inevitably went in search of him. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been reading when he noticed another figure, only that it hadn’t been so long that the interviews wouldn’t have blown over yet. In a desperate, yet still feeble, attempt to avoid talking about crownstrial altogether he began to babble about the first thing that came to his mind: the book, now closed, in his lap.
“Logically,” He began, not bothering to concern himself with whether or not the person in front of him would even have any idea what he was talking about. “Bella should have ended up with Jacob. Not only is he actually a living creature, which should be a reason in itself, he also always had her best interests in mind and he didn’t just abandon her when things got hard. Edward is just too perfect to conceivably be a good choice for her, in any situation.”
Leira sat across the table from Slate, quietly absorbed in a Jane Austen novel, one from her mother’s personal collection. It was a hobby she picked up shortly after her mother’s death. She planned to read all of her mother’s favorite books and learn more about her from the cursive words that filled up the margins and space between the lines. A longing in her heart forced her to look for all the things she hadn’t known about her mother while she still breathed.
With each word she read in her mother’s fanciful script, her heart ached. Nothing she ever felt matched the pain she felt each time she thought of her mother. Yet she continued to read her mother’s words and thoughts. Every part of her needed this, if not to get closure than to hold a piece of her mother in her hands again. A shaky breath escaped her lips and she blinked tears away.
Everything still hurt and smiling still stole more energy than she had. In the eleven days since her mother’s death, she tried everything to distract herself with everything from braids and makeup to swimming. None of it seemed to work. Reading the novels that once belonged to her mother, however, helped in a way the other temporary hobbies couldn’t.
She looked up from her book and focused on Slate. Lei couldn’t spend every moment with her, something Leira begrudgingly accepted, and since their mother’s death, Emory had seemed cold. Loneliness washed over her in waves. At this point, she simply wanted someone to talk to. “ Slate, may I ask what your favorite novel or novella is ? ”
Slate loved the library. The sights, the sounds, the smells, they all comforted him. Normally he came in alone, getting lost in the stacks as a way of getting away from everything else but today he wasn’t, and after everything that had happened he couldn’t blame Leira for seeking companionship. He knew that if their roles were reversed he’d be holding himself together far worse than she was, and he admired the strength she’d shown thus far.
He glanced up at the sound of her voice, his own nose buried in his third re-read of Shakespeare’s Othello. He considered his answer for a moment, mind roving over all the different stories he’d read over the years to pick out the one that stood out to him the most. “I think my favourite would be Frankenstein by Mary Shelley. I can’t pinpoint exactly why I love it so dearly, but I know that I do. Maybe it’s because it’s about a creature so under the control of someone else to the point that it doesn’t really have any freewill of it’s own.”
Once again Slate was examining something far too closely for his own liking, so he offered Leira a polite smile and shifted the direction of the conversation. “What about you, Leira? What’s your favourite book?”
uncertainty has never been slate’s friend, and yet here he was in the nicest clothes he owned sitting across from a camera with the very emotion he didn’t want to feel humming through his veins along with his silver blood. he was trying desperately not to fidget, not to show how nervous he was, but he was only succeeding about half the time. he tried not to question his own decisions, that could lead him done far too many dark paths than he cared for, but with each passing nanosecond slate found himself that much closer to wondering how the hell he convinced himself to do this.
question one. the interviewer shuffles through their bag before crossing one leg over the other once they have found exactly what they were looking for. they seem to show little regard for your time and could careless how long it takes to get the interview started. you could be on a tight schedule, but it would appear that you will likely run late the rest of the day at the rate the interview is going. they glance up with the slightest smile on their face before looking back towards the note cards in their hands. again — time is a concept they have no intention of comprehending at this moment, so when they finally clear their throat, there could be a bit annoyance in your answers given the fact you have every right to. “ could you introduce yourself to the camera? “ that is all they ask from you. they could have done so sooner, but they go back to their note cards with little direction when to start. they glance up again and wave a hand as if to signal some type of response on your end with a single finger pointing towards the camera. a red light soon appears to show that it has began recording.
slate was glad he had nothing more pressing to get to than his books, not that the person in front of him would care either way. there was something frustrating about how little they clearly cared, acting as if his time was worth absolutely nothing to them or worse, something that they wanted to take as much as possible of. he briefly considered that they were trying to cause him to be more anxious than he already was, but he dismissed that based on their complete lack of interest alone. however, even if it wasn’t their intention he was still getting more worked up with every moment of silence and he worried that at this rate crownstrial would be over by the time they even asked him one question.
finally they spoke, short and sweet with no real direction at all. slate forced his face to remain a smooth mask despite his desire to draw his brows in confusion. he glanced at the camera just in time to see the little red light blink on, and plastered on a wide, polite smile despite suddenly feeling like a thousand eyes were on him. “i am lord slate, the lone heir to house blonos.” the lie rankled, and rethinking it he wasn’t sure that asserting himself as the only heir of a high house would help or hinder him.
question two & three. you have barely finished your sentence when the interviewer shoots another question out without regards if you had anything else to add. “ why are you doing crownstrial? “ the question is simple enough that it should be brief and easy to answer with honesty being the best policy in this moment. however, the interviewer tilts their head to the side to show that their is a brief moment of disbelief. “ are your words true? do you mean what you say? can we trust you? “ the heaviness of the interview becoming rather apparent as you could swear that there is a smirk on the edge of the interviewers lip before they blankly stare towards you ; the red lip from the camera is still flashing at you. this is the moment where reality sets in, and you can feel the weight of country’s eyes staring at you. they may not see this at this very moment, but you swear that you feel as if this is a live stream to the world. you give what you perceive as your own truth and give your best expression to the camera.
the next question came rapid fire, barely giving slate time to breathe before he’s expected to have another fully formed answer to give to the camera. he considers all the reasons he’d signed up for this, well aware that taking too long would make it look like he was coming up with a story. there were too many angles he could take that would only damaged his chances so he went with the most direct. “i’m doing crownstrial because i believe in what king orion is trying to do, and he deserves a partner beside him that supports the direction he’s attempting to take this great country.”
slate refused to let their obvious disbelief trip him up, just as he refused to swallow the lump rising in his throat. the wrong move here, looking too nervous or unsure, could be more detrimental to him than anything he says, and he was well aware of it. “i don’t make a habit out of lying,” that was a lie in and of itself, but the people didn’t know that. and besides, in his mind this was very different than any of the other lies he’s told over the years. “and i’m not changing that for this or anything else. i wouldn’t say something if it wasn’t the truth.”
question four. the longest sigh rolls from their interviewers lips as they quickly pause the recording once you’re done giving your answers. they get up and head for the door with little said in your direction. they are gone for a total of ten minutes before returning with food and water in hand ; something you could have desired if asked. “ let us pick up where we left off. “ they take a bite from their food, browsing the note cards once more. they open their mouth to respond, but decide that finishing their bite is best. a hard swallow follows as note cards soon flood the floor as they slip from the interviewers lap. they glance up at you to see your response, expecting you to retrieve the note cards from the floor. the red light flashes on and another smile takes over the interviewer’s face. “ do you agree with the ideals of our king? “ every question seems to either set you up for a successful interview or a complete fail as everyone will be able to read your expression in this type of situation. you do not have seconds to react as the camera never stops recording. you make the best of the interview expecting more to come, but that seems to be the last question for you.
slate could feel some of the tension leave his body as the red light went out, a welcome respite from the weight of a million eyes. he adjusted his coat as they left, barely hearing the murmured instructions to wait. with the camera turned off he allowed himself to fidget in the quiet, shifting in his seat and smoothing down his jacket so many times that he might has well have been an iron. finally they came back, a glass of water in one hand and an apple in the other. slate wasn’t particularly hungry or thirsty, but he would have considered it common courtesy to extend an offer to him. the socialite in him saw the act for what it truly was: a power play. they were trying to show that they could do what they want, and make him squirm at the same time.
he wasn’t going to fall for it, nor was he going to fall for whatever they were trying to pull when they dropped their cards. the part of him that was raised to be polite and proper at all times reared it’s ugly head as the interviewer crouched on the ground and gathered their cards, but he squashed it with the insistence that this was what was best. they flash another smile as they return to their seat before giving slate his next question, finally one there was no need for him to overthink. “as i just said, i absolutely agree with the king. norta’s customs have remained unaltered practically since it was formed, and king orion is finally doing something about it. clearly not everyone agrees with him, but he’s doing the right thing, and i wholeheartedly support it.”
question five. the interviewer gives one last glance over cards that you can easily see that ask about your hobbies and passions, which would have painted you as relatable, but they stick with the harder ones. the light continues to flash for what seems like hours when the interviewer reviews a few things in their lap then points to the camera again. “ now give a closing remark. keep it short. i will cut whatever I do not like. “ there is a superiority in their tone as they look at you, and you could swear they are trying their best to get a reaction out of you. it is ultimately up to you on how you respond, but patience will get you far in moments like this as the red flashing light is a reminder of those that are to watch soon enough. you give your answer. the interviewer grabs their things with a quick push on the camera to cut it off. anything that happens next is ultimately up to you as no one is watching.
slate sees them flip past simple cards, easy cards, without so much as a pause. part of him is glad, the more questions they ask the longer the whole thing will take, but he also knows that part of a good public image is being someone people can relate to, an opportunity the interviewer is deliberately denying him. after what feels like ages they speak again, another power play that slate has no choice but to play right into it. closing remarks were something he’d come prepared for, unlike everything else that had been asked of him so far.
he let his smile shift from the polite one he’d been wearing for a majority of the interview into a grin full of excitement as he addressed the camera. “i’d like to thank the citizens of norta, and you,” he added, letting his eyes move to the face of the interviewer that the camera couldn’t see for a brief second before returning his full attention to the machine. “for their time and this opportunity. long live the flame of the north.” as soon as the camera was off slate was up and out of his seat, heading for the door with not another word to the interviewer.
Youth was meant to last an eternity for those within House Blonos — an eternity of ageless skin that others envied until it became plastic. Slate Blonos never wanted to be an ageless beauty like the rest of his house. He wanted to have a story cast across his skin to reveal the past that he had lived previously. Instead, he was forced to use the very skill that he lacked in — words. He was never one to hold a verbal conversation longer than a few moments in passing before disappearing into a book. Books were his taste in communication, a way he would reveal himself to you by the one he would give. He would court girls by leaving stacks of books outside of their door that told of love stories cast upon decades from the old world, but the society they lived in only focused on the riches of it all. His older brother ( by only six minutes, he would like to point out ) was the one that could create these love stories on spot, helping his brother in the field of love where he lacked. The two were really one when it came to their story of creation, but it was only Slate that gained the very thing that made either of them worthy — power.
Understanding life was never a task that Slate wanted to take on until he watched his brother pushed on the back of a horse with a servant from their estate, whispered words exchanged just out of reach for him. He watched his life turn upside down as days then weeks then months passed without his brother’s return before his parents finally set him down and explained the events leading up to this moment. He had always known that his brother lacked the ageless skin like the rest, envying him for such a difference. The hard part of the truth was that ageless skin within their house was a gift in all of their eyes, except his own, and the fact that his brother didn’t have it only proved that their house was truly dying. In time, he would grow to know the importance of carrying on the house name and power, but he was so caught up in his own seclusion and task in life that the actions that would soon follow were so suddenly laid out that he would grow to regret them in the years to come.
It had been years since Slate was able to sneak away from the elite long enough to visit his brother as they got older, forced to court a handful of girls that always ended up going for a more powerful silver house than his own. It was this growing loneliness that would place him in the position to betray the one person that had never done him wrong. When he made his way to a private meeting with the king, he laid out all of House Blonos’ darkest secrets that could potentially save his brother from seclusion at the family’s estate. It was as if he was so focused on the possibility of getting things back to normal that he never really took a step back long enough to see that his actions would alter his brother’s life in a way he didn’t desire. He expected a different reaction from the king than he got, so when guards were swiftly directed to bring the suspect in, Slate finally saw the devastation he was now the creator of. House Blonos was permanently placed on watch as a dying house with him being the last hope — the king granting him the position to find a suitable partner to court.
Slate should have been grateful for the king’s favor, but he was instead turned away by the idea of getting hand outs while his brother was disguised as a lower house silver, serving the very house he belongs in. He would be naive to think that he can simply move on from what he’s done without the guilt following him closely, but he is often taken aback when he catches sight of his brother — an obvious anger behind his eyes. He is constantly thinking back on his actions to figure out the true reason he went to the king, but there is a part of him that wanted to do it out of selfishness. Why did he have to live without his brother just because he was different? However, he never thought about his brother’s own happiness away from this life, and he just now comprehends the life he has destined his brother to live. He still isn’t sure what is expected of him now, but he has sacrificed too much already for him to just give into the demands of his family.
CONNECTIONS
NIXON BLONOS, twin brother; The tension between the two of them currently is something that cannot be ignored when someone else is around them. No one knows the true identity of Nixon, but it would be naive to brush off the resemblance between his twin and House Blonos. Many people whisper about the potential bastard of House Blonos, but that would have been something to come up sooner rather than later in life. If there is one thing that Slate wishes could happen, he simply would take back everything he’s done the past few months.
DESTA IRAL, closest friend; She is the only person in the entire society outside of House Blonos that knows the true identity of Nixon. Slate confided in her in their youth and has never regretted it once. Desta has been the closest person in his life since his brother was cast away, and he never realized just how much she meant to him until he was forced to spend less time with those he found company in and those that could secure his future. There is a part of him that wishes that she could be that future for him.
SOFIYA PROVOS, potential bethrothed; His family has been pressuring him for months now to try to court the daughter within House Provos, but there isn’t much known about her to pursue her. He only ever pursues anyone at the demands of his family, and this is the first time that he has actually spoken against it. He isn’t exactly sure what has come over him to deny their request, but he has decided that he would go after those that he picks — with Sofiya still being at the top of the list. He just will not tell his parents that for the time being.
His faceclaim is DEVON BOSTICK and is FLEXIBLE. He are OPEN FOR AUDITION.
