Happy New Year (of the dragon)! Decided to do a parody of the original Dragon Quest box art, one of my favorite games. Broke out the watercolor for this one for the first time in years, and I was really pleased with how it turned out!
"It'll be great," Bob gushed, his eyes sparkling. "I really appreciate all your help, you guys."
"Aw, it's no problem!" Margie laughed. The three of them--Bob, Margie and Jam--were sitting in Jam's studio, sharing some celebratory drinks. "I'm just glad you don't hate me anymore."
"I never hated you," Bob sighed. "I was just...hating myself, mostly. I just feel terrible for everything I've done..."
"You apologized enough, you don't have to do it again," Jam said, smiling a rare smile. "But I'm with Margie here. It's good to see you back to your old self, Bob."
"In more ways than one." Margie closed her notebook, sighing. "To be honest, I'm glad you're gonna leave the company. It feels more and more like Dad is...I'm not sure. But something seems to be making him really testy, lately. I have the feeling something bad is going to happen."
"I'm just lucky he gave me permission to put on the Electric Festival in the first place. I really thought he wasn't going to." Bob took a sip from a glass he was holding, then placed it back on the nearby coffee table. "He didn't seem all that happy to see me."
"Well, you did kind of...cause a headache for him," Jam said through nervously gritted teeth. "With the whole attempted murder thing."
"Gee, you know, I feel just awful about that," Bob lamented, shaking his head. "That's part of why I wanna do this. Pay my debts, you know. This city's been good to me. Better than it has any right to be. So I wanna give something back, instead of just taking."
Jam tilted his head. "You know, I'm kind of impressed," he remarked. "I didn't think you'd ever be so...introspective about this."
"Well, it's the start of a whole new me!" Bob exclaimed, putting a hand over his heart. "No more exploitation. From now on, I'm going to do the best I can to change Electricopolis!"
"Well, you might have a hard time with that," Margie offered. "The city's been around a long time, and so has Top Tier. I'd be surprised if you were able to make a dent in the television network market share in your first year."
"I know. But it's better than just sitting around feeling sorry for myself. And besides," Bob said, "isn't it better to try than not to try?"
Margie lifted up her drink. "Hear, hear."
Jam nodded. "Well, you know we've got your back. To be honest, I'm surprised I didn't come up with the idea myself," he remarked. "A festival for the arts and crafts scene in Electricopolis is a really cool idea."
"I'd be lying if I said I weren't thinking of you when I came up with it," Bob laughed. "I was like, 'What would Jam do in this kind of situation?'"
"Really?" Jam blinked behind his glasses. "I'm surprised. I guess all my lecturing really did get through your skull."
The three of them laughed, together.
---
"We'll aim for the end of the year, okay?" Bob suggested. "That should give us more than enough time to get the word out about the Festival and the Electric Park."
"Sounds good," Margie said. "I'll fund it and arrange the spaces for the artists' booths."
"I'll liaison with the artists and help spread the word," Jam offered. "I think you're gonna have a hell of a turnout."
"And I'll present!" Bob said. "And manage. And I have a few designs for some of the floats already," he continued, "and I have a few artists I'm reaching out to for the rest..."
"Careful," Jam said gently yet sternly. "You don't want to spread yourself too thin. You gotta learn to moderate yourself, instead of doing an all-or-nothing kind of thing."
Bob sighed. "You're right. I'm just feeling so..." He shook his hands out, as if drying them. "So energized! Honestly, I never imagined I could get this kind of jolt from anything other than frying my brains out!"
The morning news--well, what passed for morning in Electricopolis--interviewed Bob near the end of the year. Wrapped up in a scarf and hat, Bob gestured to some of the artisans' booths as he talked into the microphone.
"We have folks from every corner of the city," he said loudly, talking over the din of the crowd. "Over here are some carpenters from down on 1-2, best work you've ever seen! And of course, we have goldsmiths from right here in the top tier, too. I wanted to arrange it so that it wasn't just folks from their own parts of the town clumped up together. This way, everyone can mingle and maybe learn something new about each other."
"That's very ambitious," said the anchor. "So when can we attend the Electric Festival?"
"It'll be held right before the New Year!" Bob explained. "From December 29th to the 31st. We're going to kick it off with a pop-up light show with all kinds of floats and machines!"
"Wow!" said the other presenter, oohing and aahing. "An Electric Park, is that right?"
"That's right," Bob responded, nodding and grinning. "It'll be a spectacle like nobody in Electricopolis has ever seen!"
---
The Electric Festival was shaping up to be a roaring success. Bob, Margie and Jam worked around the clock to process and set up every artisan and craftsperson who wanted a space, and the sheer breadth and depth of the works provided was stunning, especially to Bob, who, until he met Alice Lang, never met a piece of art he felt he actually understood. Paintings, embroidery, sculptures, even seemingly ordinary pieces like ironwork chairs and tables seemed to contain a startling new form of life. It was as if he had never actually thought about the way the world worked before. In turn, that seemed to ignite some creative part of his brain, something he hadn't truly exercised since he had been a young performer on the streets of the top tier.
He took a meticulous, almost obsessive interest in the design and operation of the Electric Park. And, Bob Sparker still being Bob Sparker, too much was never enough: more bulbs, more neon, more moving joints and multicolored lights began to take shape on the floats, bit by bit by bit.
"I dunno if the dragon is going to work out," Margie said, squinting up at the still-in-progress machine. "That whole ‘breathing sparks' thing might be kind of, you know, a fire hazard?"
"A fire hazard? I guess you're right," Bob sighed. "I guess we could go with something else. Maybe an arrangement of bulbs that change color?"
"We're already using over 500,000 bulbs," Jam pointed out. "How about you go in a different direction? We have a ton of leftover fabric. Why not use some of the reds and yellows, cut ‘em up, put a fan in the head of the dragon."
"Hey, that's great!" Bob exclaimed, looping an arm around Jam's shoulders and giving him an enthusiastic side-hug. "See, this is going to be incredible!"
"Well, let's not get ahead of ourselves," Jam stammered, adjusting his glasses. "There's still something we haven't decided on yet."
"What's that?"
"How are we actually going to power all these machines?"
"Oh, Mr. King signed off on all that a while ago," Bob said, waving a hand. "I figured we would just plug ‘em in. I warned him it would be a little heavy on the power bill."
Margie looked over at him. Her brow seemed to furrow for a moment, and then she shrugged. "Well, if Dad says it's okay, I guess it's okay."
Bob looked in the mirror, turning his face this way and that. There were a few new lines there, a few new wrinkles that brought a slightly craggy quality to his face; but more than that, there was a glow, a warmth that bloomed underneath the skin. He smiled.
There was a polite knock at his door. "Hey, Margie just called," Jam said politely. "She's been called away by her dad for some reason or another. She says she'll meet up with us once it's taken care of. You wanna get going?"
"Sure, sure." Bob turned away from the mirror and finished tying his necktie. It was a muted green satin tie, bought for him by his mother when he had first signed on with Zap! Entertainment. He always wore it when he was nervous--he considered it a good luck charm. "I'll be done in just a second."
He smoothed it down against his chest, admiring himself in the mirror. "All right," he whispered to his reflection. "It's showtime."
---
"Ladies and gentlemen," Bob pronounced, "thank you for coming out in this cold weather! Before we start, I just want to say a couple words about the Electric Festival..."
He nodded over to his companion. "It wouldn't have been possible without this guy! Jam arranged contact with almost all the vendors and artisans here at the Festival. A big round of applause, ladies and gents!"
The crowd applauded vigorously. Jam bowed his head down, trying to hide a smile.
"I'd also like to thank Margaret King for funding to put on the Festival in the first place," Bob continued. "She couldn't be here right away, sadly, but I'm sure she'll turn up. And now, without further ado, let's kick this thing off!"
Bob tucked the microphone under his arm and knelt down to grab the two large electrical plugs--one male, one female--that lay on the ground in front of him. "Enjoy the Electric Festival!" he exclaimed, and shoved the plugs together.
The Electric Park lit up in a million different lights, drawing a gasp and astonished applause from the crowd. The floats began to move back and forth, the colored fabric waving. Bob and Jam exchanged relieved grins.
"I guess that's that," Jam sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "A job well done, right?"
"That's right," Bob agreed, clapping him on the shoulder with his free hand. "A job well--"
The lights flickered, and then there was a vmmm sound as the floats powered down and dimmed completely. There was a startled silence among the crowd.
Bob pulled the plugs apart. He pushed them back together. Again. Nothing. He fumbled with the microphone, bringing it back up to his face. "One second, folks," he stammered. "I'm just as confused as you are."
Jam tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned. "My cell phone's got no reception,"he said. "I think the cell towers went dark too."
"The cell towers? Then the whole city must have lost power," Bob replied. Sure enough, in the distance, the bright lights of the storefronts were going black.
There was a loud murmur that rippled through the crowd. "What is this?"asked someone near the front. "Is this part of the festival?"
Bob motioned for them to settle down. "It looks like there's been a power outage," he explained. "It's not just us. I'm sure if we all stay calm--"
He was cut off by the wail of sirens. A crowd of police cars pulled up to the entrance to the park. A megaphone crackled. "Bob Sparker?" announced one of the cops through the megaphone. "We'd like you to come with us."
“Bob Sparker?” announced one of the cops through a megaphone. “We’d like you to come with us.”
Bob looked back and forth, holding up his hands nervously. “What’s this all about?” he asked, raising his voice.
“You’re under arrest,” pronounced the officer, “for organizing without a permit, blocking the flow of traffic, and theft of electricity from the Top Tier Electric Company. This blackout is your fault,” he said. “You must disperse immediately!”
“But Mr. King said he would take care of the permits and all that,” Bob protested. “He said everything would be fine!”
Jam threw out a hand to stop him from taking a step forward. “Don’t,” he said. “Something’s not right here. They showed up way too quickly for this to be anything but a setup.”
“But…” Bob lowered his hands a bit, visibly agitated. He looked back and forth, from Jam to the cops and then back again–and suddenly he bolted, running across the expanse towards the exit.
“Don’t move!” shouted another cop, and Bob yelped as a rubber bullet careened off the bricks near his heels. He and Jam scrambled up and over the wrought-iron gate that surrounded the park, then kept running into the streets that made up the Diamond District.
The storefronts and neon signs were dark, and the only light came from the headlights of the cars parked along the street. The dense crowds that populated the upper level of the town were running from the park, and Bob grabbed Jam’s hand as they disappeared into the crowd and turned a corner into a darkened alleyway.
The two paused there, panting and heaving, as the sirens of the police cars grew louder and then began to fade away. “What gives?” Bob asked helplessly, his hands on his knees as he struggled to calm himself. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” Jam panted, taking off his sunglasses and tucking them in his pocket. “I can’t see a thing now that all the lights are out. Why would Mr. King send the cops after you, anyway? He doesn’t need to do that.”
“That’s probably why he called Margie back,” Bob lamented. “He probably didn’t want her getting hurt…”
Jam looked up as the red and blue klaxons of a police car passed by the alleyway. “We gotta keep going,” he said furtively, grabbing Bob’s hand again. “This way.”
The two wended their way through the streets and alleys of the city. The only light came from the headlights of the cars stopped haphazardly in the streets, their doors open, their drivers vacated. Distantly, the two could hear the sound of broken windows and yelling; but here, for some reason, there was an almost eerie emptiness.
“I thought it was a little weird that Mr. King would sign off on something like this,” Jam said, mostly to try to keep his thoughts in order, “but I never thought he would send the cops after you, or stage something like a blackout. Do you think he had it planned the whole time?”
“I don't know,” Bob lamented. He collapsed, sitting on a nearby milk crate and rubbing the bridge of his sizeable nose. “I can't…imagine him like that. He always treated me like family,” he said, almost in tears. “Do you think there's some kind of mistake? Maybe the police…”
“He’s always had them in his pocket,” Jam explained. “Come on, we have to keep going. There's no telling what will happen if they catch us.”
There was a wail of a distant siren, and both men pressed themselves against the shadows of the alleyway. The sound grew closer, and Jam relaxed as he saw that it was an ambulance that passed, and not a cop car.
But after a moment, the ambulance reversed, then stopped. A man hopped out of the back, in a first responder’s uniform.
“Hey,” he said, waving to Bob and Jam. “Psst. This way!”
Bob and Jam looked at each other, frozen. The man looked this way and that, then drew closer into the alleyway. He tilted the helmet up and lifted his phone, the light illuminating a face Bob had seen before.
“Sam!” Bob exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
“I quit my job down below. I’m a first responder now.” He turned to wave to the driver of the ambulance, and it sped off. He turned back to Bob and Jam. “Listen, you have to get out of here. There are riots breaking out all over the top tier of the city, and the talking heads on the radio are blaming you for them.”
“Blaming me?” Bob echoed. “Why?”
“Top Tier Electric is saying you staged the festival as a way to nuke the town’s power grid after you got suspended,” Sam explained. “But that doesn't make any sense…at least, not to me.”
He looked over his shoulder. “Come on,” he said urgently. “I know a way you can get below.”
Sam Gale led the other two to a set of doors that led downwards, like the doors of a storm cellar. “These are all over the city,” he said. “They lead to the maintenance tunnels. You should be okay down there, at least for now.”
Jam started to descend the stairs, and Bob grabbed the handrail and started to walk behind him. He looked up to see Sam Gale kneeling down on the street above. “You're not coming with us?” Bob asked.
“I can't,” Sam replied, shaking his head. “I still need to do my job up here. But I knew I had to find you. Listen,” he said, leaning in. “I’m not surprised Top Tier is trying to pin this on you. I used to work on the generators myself. Us workers know that there have been some problems for a long time now.”
“Like what?”
“I don't know for sure. But the folks in the lower tiers have gone without power before,” Sam said. “I think something really wrong is happening. Be careful.”
“Okay. We will.” Bob looked down, then back up at Sam Gale. “Thanks, Sam.”
“No problem.” He grinned. “Stay safe, Bob.”
The two descended into the darkness, with only the lights of their cell phones to guide them down the stairs and ladders that led below. At one point, Bob leaned against the bottom rungs of one of the ladders, panting. “Sorry, I gotta take a break,” he said. “I’m not really used to all this running and climbing.”
“It's fine.” Jam knelt down and pulled out a pocket radio. “I wanted to turn this on and have a listen, anyway. What on earth are they saying about you?”
He turned on the radio. It crackled, then came to life. “...Residents are encouraged to stay in their homes,” said a voice. “The police are currently engaged in suppressing looting in the Pearl District and searching for the fugitive Robert Bianchi, better known by his stage name Bob Sparker.”
Bob looked over, wiping his brow. His white hair clung to his forehead.
“Sparker spearheaded the ill-advised Electric Festival without authorization from Top Tier, according to representatives from the company,” continued the reporter. “The draw in the city’s resources has devastated the town, leading to tonight's blackout. Power is not expected to be restored until at least 72 hours from now…”
“72 hours?” Bob yelped. “That's crazy!”
“That doesn't make any sense,” Jam said, frustrated. “The festival barely got off the ground before it went dark.”
“Nothing about this makes any sense,” Bob groaned. “I think we're gonna have to find Mr. King to get an explanation.” He lifted his head, listening. “Hey…do you hear that? That rumbling sound, like an earthquake?”
Jam tilted his head. There was a distant groaning, followed by a faint shaking sensation. “I don't think it's an earthquake,” he said. “It keeps happening–I noticed it earlier too. It sounds too regular. It almost sounds like…a train?”
The rumbling grew louder and less distant as they kept descending. They walked through tunnels for what felt like hours, each twist and turn drawing them closer to the source of the sound. The tunnels were dark and damp, and Jam complained about it more than once–but mostly just to hear himself talk. Bob was unusually, uncharacteristically, silent.
Finally, they rounded a corner and, through a door, reached an odd area with a long, flat concrete platform next to a length of track. “Hey, there's a light here,” Jam remarked, indicating a flickering bulb above him. “Why's that?”
“No idea.” Bob leaned over, peering down the track, shining his cell phone’s flashlight beam as far as it would go. “What is this place? It reminds me of a bus station.”
“A train station,” Jam corrected. “I’ve heard of these. I didn't think there were any in Electricopolis, though. I thought they were only used a long time ago, in some other places, far away.”
“This whole thing feels like a ghost story,” Bob remarked. “Hey, there’s that sound again…”
This time, the rumbling grew louder and louder. Two dots of light appeared at the end of the darkness, then grew larger as they drew near. Bob leaned over, and Jam yanked him back as a subway train pulled in and slowly came to a halt. After a moment, its doors slid open.
The two glanced at each other. Wordlessly, they stepped on board.
The interior of the train was dusty but not dirty. Actually, except for the dust, it was pristine–the seats were cushioned with soft plastic, and the rest of the train was brushed metal. The walls were bare except for safety instructions and a map, and on the ceiling there was a diagram of the stops on the subway line from its origin to its terminus.
There were only three stops, two close together and the third very far away. The first stop was labeled DIAMOND DISTRICT, the second stop labeled TOP TIER, and the third was simply blank.
“I wonder what that means,” Bob said aloud. “At least we know where it's going next.”
After what felt like an hour, but was, in reality, only a few tense minutes, the train pulled up to the second station. It was another platform much like the first, but with a few seats, some faded maps on the walls, and a thick layer of dust that coated everything.
The doors slid open. Carefully, Bob and Jam glanced around and, finding the station platform empty, stepped out. Just then, there was the sound of quick, almost frantic footsteps, and Margaret King, her curled hair bouncing around her shoulders, tore down the nearby stairs.
“Bob!” she cried out, nearly tackling both of her friends in a hug. “Jam! I was so worried about you two!”
“Margie?” Bob held his friend tight as he struggled to keep his balance. “What’s been going on?”
“It's horrible!” Margie cried out, burying her face in Bob’s hair. “Dad…he’s been…”
There was the sound of footsteps again, slow this time, and methodical. Bob and Jam looked up to see Percy King make his way down the stairs.
Bob opened his mouth, then closed it, completely at a loss for how to address his boss. What should he say? What could he say?
Percy fixed him with a glare, then shook his head. “Not even a word of apology. I expected better from you, Bob.”
“Apology?” Jam exclaimed. “You're the one that sent the cops after us! You’ve got a lot of explaining to do–”
Percy turned his head, pointedly ignoring Jam. “Do you realize how taxing it is to constantly be bailing you out of trouble? And I’m rewarded for it by having you desert me. And taking my daughter and Jam with you, too…” He sighed heavily. “I suppose I was wrong about you.”
“I-I…” Bob croaked. “I don't know what you mean.”
Margie pulled away and wiped her eyes. Percy continued to talk. “Do you remember the night we met, at the winter ball?” he said to Bob. “Your speech was excellent. It was sincere. You were different from the others, who were content to praise me, to use any affection they could garner, only to jump ship when they were able to…”
He sighed heavily, shudderingly. For a moment he seemed overcome with emotion–and then he shut it down, his voice becoming steady and almost monotone. “I suppose all that time changes a man. You really were like the others, in the end.”
Bob’s stomach lurched. For a moment, he wanted nothing more than to grovel at his boss’s–ex-boss’s–feet, to kiss his shoes, to apologize for even having thought about leaving the comfort of Top Tier.
But why had he wanted to leave in the first place?
If nothing changes, then people are going to keep getting hurt. I’m...I’m going to keep hurting people.
Bob blinked. He grew furious, his hands curling into fists. “Is that what this is about?” he yelled. “You sent the whole city after me because I wanted to stop putting people in a televised woodchipper? I wanted to give back to this town!” he continued. “I wanted to do something positive for a change!”
“You were throwing away everything I’d given you!” Percy retorted. “Margaret,” he said, exasperated. “You talk to him. Make him understand.”
Bob looked to Margie, who had her arms wrapped around herself as if from cold. She was staring at the ground, unable to speak.
“In any case,” Percy said, looking away again, “I have one last gift to offer you, Bob. A severance package, if you will, for my once-upon-a-time top earner.” He gestured toward the train. “Take it. It runs on auxiliary power–the last the city has. It's the only way out of town.”
“Out of town?” Bob echoed. “What are you talking about?”
“Just that. An exit beyond the valley and the mountains.” Percy descended the rest of the steps and placed a hand on Margaret's shoulder. She covered her face with her hands and tried to stifle a sob. “Or would you prefer to stay in town and face mob justice?” He smiled thinly, his gaze still fixed on Bob Sparker. “I fear even my magnanimity might not be enough to save you this time.”
“So that’s it, then.” Bob’s voice carried a mix of confusion, anger, and despair. “After everything.”
“Yes,” Percy said. “After everything. Will you stay or will you go?”
The answer was quick, unhesitating, and it even surprised Sparker himself to hear it come out of his mouth. “I’m leaving,” he said. “It’s not like there's much of a choice.” He looked over at Margaret and Jam, both looking deeply unsettled. “What about you guys? You coming with?”
“I…give me a moment. Please.” Margaret reached out and placed a hand on Jam’s, pulling him aside. “Can we have a couple minutes to talk by ourselves?”
“Of course,” Percy said, his voice irritatingly soothing, as he patted Margaret’s shoulder with a smile. “Take your time. But not too much time,” he said. “The train leaves in five minutes.”
Bob watched the two of them turn their backs and begin whispering, then glanced over at Percy King. The man took out a cigarette case, tapped a cigarette on the silver, and placed it into his mouth. He lit it and took a long drag, exhaling the smoke into the air.
“I didn’t know you smoked,” Bob remarked. It was a stupid thing to say, but he didn’t want to say anything else.
“Only when I’m stressed,” Percy said. “It’s not good for my health.”
“You know what else isn’t good for your health?” Bob said, deadpan. “Shocking yourself on-air twice a day, five days a week.”
“Good thing you had the best health insurance in town.” Percy blew another plume of smoke. “I really did care for you, you know. And you were so good at your job.”
Bob glared. That was the worst part–Percy was right. He had been good at his job. Excellent, in fact, and it had brought him a satisfaction that made everything else feel hollow in comparison. Even after striking out on his own with working on the Electric Festival, some part of him still yearned for that approval.
Bob’s eyes widened. “Wait a second,” he said. “I get it now. There’s no difference, is there?”
“Hmm?”
“Paulina Sweet,” Bob pointed out. “She bent over backwards for her boss, and he still threw her away when she didn’t perform. And when she tried to win him back, she just ended up in jail.” His voice quavered. “There’s no difference between Top Tier and Rubyred, is there? It’s just a game,” he realized. “A game where people like you play chess with people like me.”
A look of deep offense crossed Percy’s face. He thought about it for a moment, then tilted his head, and his expression became more muted. “I suppose that’s one way to think about it.”
At that moment, Margaret and Jam came back. Margaret clasped Jam’s hand in her own, nervously. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, unable to meet Bob’s gaze. “I think Jam and I have to stay in the city. There’s a lot of work we’re going to have to do.”
Bob blinked. “What? You’re–you’re sending me off by myself? After all we’ve been through?”
“We’ll take the subway out and bring you back as soon as we can, okay?” Jam said. “As soon as it’s safe for you to come back. We’ll make sure you get home.”
Margaret nodded. “I promise.”
Bob glanced back and forth between the two of them. His expression hardened. “You know what? Fine.” As the subway doors slid open with a ding, he stepped onto the train. “Enjoy your life in town. I’ll make sure to write.”
Margaret said nothing. She kept her eyes on Bob, then slid her gaze over to her father, who was still smoking. Then she let go of Jam’s hand and shoved Percy in the back with both hands, sending him stumbling into Bob and knocking them both down to the floor of the subway car.
Percy struggled to his feet as the doors closed. Through the vertical windows, Bob could see her twist something on the outside of the door with both hands–probably an emergency lock. “Margaret!” Percy shouted, pounding on the door, trying to force it aside. “What are you doing?”
Bob jumped up and nearly shoved him aside, trying to open the door. “Don’t leave me alone with him!” he yelled. “Margie, are you crazy?”
She placed her palm on the window. “I know what he’s done. I have to tell everyone, but I don’t want them to hurt him,” she sobbed, tears streaming down her face. “I can’t let that happen. I’m going to fix this, I swear. Jam’s going to help me.”
Bob could put his hand over hers for but a moment before the train sped up and she had to pull away. “Please! You’re my best friend,” Margaret called out, running towards the end of the platform. “Please take care of my father!”
Her voice disappeared into the darkness. Percy dragged himself to the nearest seat and collapsed into it, moaning as he rubbed at his face. “Margaret,” he whispered. “Margaret, my girl…”
Bob stood there, his hand on the window of the door, as the subway headed out of Electricopolis.
Tumblr isn't letting me upload images because it's a cool and functioning website, but: Electricopolis stickers are now available!! They come in two flavors: square (Bikkuriman-style) and "figure" style. Both are holographic! Get yours today! I don't have very many, so they'll probably sell out quickly.
I'm leaving town on Thursday for a few days, so I'll try to get orders shipped out before then!
(EDIT: messed up the listings, they are now functional i hope)
