I had the pleasure of guesting for Dramaturgy: A Tsumugi Shirogane Zine, and for her birthday this year we have the leftover sale open and we get to share out work from it! So enjoy my three page comic set as a missing scene in chapter 5!
If you want to grab a zine or some merch check out the shop here while it's open!
https://tsumugizine.bigcartel.com/
Tsumugi is a very important character to me and I'm really glad this project is out there for people to have!
Kaemugi Week 2023: Day 1 - Hero / Villain
Do you see what happened in black and white? Shades of grey? Or in the full nuanced colour of two girls?
Happy kaemugi week, thank you @kaemugi-week for running it and giving us prompts! Went for some more subtle symbolism on roles using both prompts. Nothing fancy but always a treat to use my ink pens and markers.
Trying to get used to my replacement tablet some so I did a little fanart doodle of @ronpatrash 's wereworlf detective au's Tsumugi! Any excuse to do edwardian style I love but mugi? Double score! Love your au cherry! :D
the design: https://ronpatrash.tumblr.com/post/671698234588151808/more-sketches-for-werewolf-detective-au-but-im
Brought to you by technicolor~!
Did a DTIYS from @tillytechnicolor‘s instagram, because it was very much up my alley (as you can see hahah). Always fun to draw Tsumugi.
I also posted a timelapse here on youtube:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mJVONV9Regg
Description: The game is over, and someone has to answer for how it played out. Tsumugi's the obvious answer, as perfectly so as her cosplay. Features VR AU and postgame spoilers.
Word Count: 3591
Read on AO3 here
Chapter 1: Beyond Notice
During the trial it had been a lot easier. Having an opposition, having a role, having a part to stick to. There was the audience, there were the fans. There were her brilliant cosplays!
There was the vote.
She had known what she’d press.
She knew where it would get her.
Waving her last, she knew what it really meant.
But something within her still grew quiet.
Something mourned.
The triumphant grin of despair wouldn’t surface, no matter how hard she tried.
Her contestants. Her classmates. Her victims. Her cast.
They had sentenced her… themselves… to this.
Even though she knew better, she felt numb.
Her feet were heavy, rooted to the spot. The others were out of sight. Her executioner flew around above, raining his destruction down on them while she retreated inwards, her vision narrowing.
Waving, as her cosplay fell away, as the school crumbled, she should feel the heat of the explosions, but none of that reached her.
She saw the rock. She made no move.
Part of her was ready. Part of her was resigned.
It went dark.
Even though Tsumugi knew better she was almost relieved.
Until it was time to wake up.
---
Coming to feels hazy, disorienting. Her limbs jerk awkwardly, as if starting awake from a nightmare, eyes still seeing darkness but hands brushing against cords, glass and consoles. A pair of hands brush her cheek as they remove her headset, and she flinches involuntarily. One of her own hands goes to her face, tugging at its electrical tethers, still taped to her in various nerve points.
She’s not wearing her glasses. Panic washes over her just as the blinding light of the room that refuses to adjust for her does, and her other hand frantically reaches around the pod for where they must have fallen. She’d never leave her glasses. Without her glasses she’s not… she’s…
The light becomes less intense as she blinks, and she can make out the blurry silhouettes of three people in front of her, standing at attention, waiting patiently. One holds a hand outstretched with something silver clasped in it.
Shakily she takes it, unfolding the arms and sliding them carefully onto her face. The unfocused world comes back into sharp clarity. She half recognizes the faces of those who are in front of her. The silence remains. Is she supposed to say something? Eventually the one who returned her glasses clears her throat, and gestures to the others. They begin to remove the wires quickly and efficiently. Tsumugi crosses her arms and rubs at them idly as the rest are secured, feeling like this should be a more private process. As the last wire is removed the one who’s clearly in charge clears her throat again and nods to her.
“The Board would like to see you.”
Slowly, Tsumugi pushes herself out of the seat, wobbling on her feet as she does so, gripping the side of the chair shaped pod, carefully avoiding the lit LCD consoles lining the edges. The trio before her make no moves to help, nor does she request it. The legs beneath her quiver a few times, threatening to fold before her knees lock with some promise of support. Her hand gripping the side betrays the truth though, trembling with effort.
“Alright, take me to them.”
---
They aren’t happy.
There’s some general gratitude that an ending was guaranteed through her actions, but thanks for it are brisk and short lived. There are bigger problems now.
Lost footage was bad enough, but a protest live on air? Sure, there were tons of supportive fans out there with a continued commitment to the brand, but the vocal few were making themselves heard. Sponsors were pulling their funding. Team DanganRonpa needed to make a statement. They refused to take fault, they had the consent waivers, despite the impassioned display on screen. They needed a scapegoat to take the fall, and who better than the face of the disaster? It was for the good of their franchise, and their only chance to hang onto enough profit to keep the company running.
They are firing her.
The show must go on, but they would make a good faith decision to change their methods for the next season. With a brand new production team.They were advancing their technologies still and R&D was indispensable right now, so the focus went towards the writing talent. It was her failure, anyways, they posited. The simulation hadn’t flickered once, even when the jig was up.
Tsumugi is silent and numb as she is told this.
Turmoil brews as a debate begins around her about when to release the announcement.
How dare they do this to me? I worked so hard for them!
Without me this season would have never got off the ground!
Who else had the brilliant idea to move into a space epic? To introduce new worlds for the future of the story?
Who risked their life to bring down every last obstacle?
Who gave up their classmates? Was chased down for this mad show and they care more about sponsors?
How dare they place the blame on a highschooler, when I-
Wait, no, she’s not…
She runs her fingers over her temples gingerly, swaying slightly on her feet.
The discussion in front of her ebbs, attention back on her, and some expressions exchanged before they agree to resume once she’s more aware. Perhaps they were too prompt in calling her here, but they had assumed she wouldn’t need long to adjust, since she knew the truth.
They didn’t realize knowing the truth was the crux of her dilemma.
---
Deleting memories when a consciousness was plugged directly into a simulation was very simple. The centers of the brain known to store them were easily targeted without physical intervention, leaving common sense and learned skills. Untethered knowledge, learned without recalling how. The amnesia effect here was valuable. Recalling this knowledge caused a disconnect, and when memories were implanted the brain would do something extraordinary. It would map a route from the presented memory to the knowledge, all on it’s own. Connecting the neural dots and repairing the damage as though it were never there, without guidance or supervision. The human mind was a brilliantly sophisticated device.
Every cast member had been selected with some semblance of knowledge or aptitude for their assigned talent, even if it was utterly average. The knowledge was filled out for each, with painstaking researchers drafting long memories of ancient tomes, infidelity cases, star charts, blueprints, masked faces, island maps and coastal vistas. They filled in as much as possible, but even if they missed something, the mind was resilient, and would work out the holes on its own.
It wasn’t the same for her however.
There was a perk to being the ringleader for the whole affair. The person in charge had to know some of the infrastructure that was keeping them there, some of the motivations. Lest the show fall apart, or even worse be boring. So the game master went into the simulation without memory deletion.
That wasn’t to say that there weren’t memories implanted. That would be too simple.
They had to provide some true evidence of their talent to back up the enhancement of their skills and knowledge. Without a sturdy foundation built on confidence any additions would crumble and refuse to attach. Having worked in the costume department for a few seasons before her promotion, her suggestion of cosplayer had been approved almost instantly. Soon the research team was looking up Cosplay Masquerade winners from years past and the details of every prized piece of workmanship, photography and character acting they could find, and drafting it into a light for her as well. Tsumugi had been excited, and had even helped pick her absolute favourites to be remembered as costumes she made.
Ideally, this booster pack of memories for her talent would supplement her own enough to use to her fullest if the time came in game. Her script outline didn’t even call for her reveal, but having been behind the scenes a few seasons, she knew a lot more was up to chance than Team Danganronpa liked to let the media know. She wanted a strong backup at her disposal, should the need arise.
However, when the game began, something hadn’t been quite right.
Backstory memories were implanted as planned, but the talents were yet to be placed. Already in the simulation, she couldn’t ask The Board if this was deliberate. It could be a marketing scheme to boost audition rates for the next round. But already her concern grew.
The human mind is a fascinating thing.
The others spoke of being grabbed and taken here. The dots were already connecting, firing on all cylinders, looking for solutions to lost memories that didn’t need answering. It wasn’t as though they erased everything of course, it was impossible to work with a blank slate, so the bits remaining were playing havoc with their reactions. She alone had none missing, and merely nodded along. With the arrival of the talent light, she had an inward sigh of relief. Soon it wouldn’t matter, this would overwrite any unintended connections left by this stunt.
They received the memories.
Tsumugi had never expected them to feel so real.
Every costume she had lovingly picked out, from footage and articles, she could feel in her hands, as though she touched the fabric and threaded the seams.
Every pose she had seen a cosplayer photographed in, she was viewing outwardly, seeing the cameramen she never even imagined existing prior, while holding her position with careful grace.
Every character, be they dramatic, loud, shy, soft or brash, came to her in vivid detail. Their tales, their backstories, their struggles, their gestures and voices.
And it clashed against her memories of Danganronpa.
All these characters, all these series, they were not the ones she grew up on. They were new and relevant, often references classics, selected for memorability, for the audience. And yet now they were intimately hers.
They crowded for attention, buzzing and vying for a place as her favourite.
Her true favourites, the reason for her years of work and devotion, were shoved to the very back, not forgotten, but duller. Flatter.
The Ultimate Cosplayer was vibrant! Though plain outwardly her skills were undeniable!
She wasn’t some drop-out made-seamstress made-scenario writer.
Why would she ever want to be?
Therefore, it couldn’t be that surprising how lost in thought she was at her introductions, she spent far too long trying to remember the lines she had written to poke a reference to the show. There were a lot more than 52 killing games to think back on now. She regretted not stocking the A/V Room with more of these shows...
----
With an escort, she goes to her office to clear it out. Memorabilia lines the desk and walls, from seasons past. She looks them over passively as she is handed a box, and begins to take each thing down one by one. Every character, name, and mascot was familiar. Security waits at the door, and she wonders why. What could she possibly do here to harm them anymore than she supposedly already had? She had not been allowed online yet to confirm anything told to her, but she had resolved that when they spoke to her again she’d make it a condition before her termination. They couldn’t plainly believe she’d take their word on it when they put her… no that wasn’t right…
They didn’t put her anywhere, she put herself somewhere.
She shakes her head slowly a moment, the numbness in her hands having returned. Before she can react the snowglobe in her grasp slips out of her clumsy unfeeling fingers and shatters on the floor. Water and glitter splash the floor as tiny Monokumas skitter outwards past her feet across the room, freed from their little round prison. Security whirls around to face her at the sharp sound she doesn’t hear. She stands there staring at the base of the glass bauble, dumbfounded.
She vaguely recollects that that had been special. A collector’s item, given to her by someone perhaps? Limited edition? But she felt nothing staring down at the wet shards remaining, her arm hanging limp at her side. Whatever it was before, it was trash now.
Tsumugi is ushered out with her box half packed, with no mention of if she could come back for the rest. Part of her wants to scream to get the rest and cling to it all! It took so long to amass! Without it, what is there to prove her efforts? A larger part of her was happy for it to be out of sight.
She unceremoniously leaves the box in the corner of her recovery room. Not one of her own things is taken out to put anywhere. She likes the room bare and plain. Like her. Just like the girl she thinks she is.
---
Unlike before the game, when the research team and writers had meetings, strategy plans and long discussions, the classroom where Tsumugi stood with the Game Master interface was lonely and cold. There were no intricacies to any of the selections, they were mere branching paths. Sure, she recalled some of the writing details for each from before the season launch, especially the ones she had chosen as her outlined route, but how simply the screen stated them to her was troubling.
The talent had been supposed to be this simple too, but it had depth she hadn’t expected.
The selection hovered over the Ultimate Hunt and the mass funeral choices, the ones her writing team had OK’d. She wondered what depth she’d feel seeing fake people mourn her. Would they seem fake?
She pressed the button and waited for the light to pop out of the locker, adjusting her glasses idly and looking out the dark wire barred windows. She thought about her ‘classmates’, who had nothing in their heads remaining to help them deny these. It really was a perfect system. For them.
There was a thud in the locker. Tsumugi returned to her task, like so many all nights she’d pulled before, both real and fictional. She walked over to retrieve it, carefully tucking it into the interior pocket on her coat. Once it was placed that was their plot, no rewrites, no erasing anything. Living the story was a lot more nerve wracking than writing it.
---
Tsumugi knows her way around the building without help, but that doesn’t stop security from falling into step and walking with her whenever she leaves her room. She supposes it’s not to help her, anyways, so it’s not an issue. There’s no regimented schedule for her during recovery, though doctors have visited her room a few times and there was one impromptu check-up with an actual CT scan.
She tells them all she feels fine. Everything is fine. She’s readjusting just fine, thank you for asking. No, no abnormalities. No numbness. No confusion. She does admit to being very tired. That one is a safe answer, it usually makes them leave faster so she can rest.
They aren’t very good doctors, she thinks.
She wonders if they are just as poorly attentive to the other patients’ issues and lies.
Without a schedule, Tsumugi avoids the cafeteria at what she guesses would be the busier times, but even doing so she has caught glimpses of her cast.
A girl sitting with an untouched meal laid out before her. Her hands clasped in front of her in her lap, eyes hidden behind loose grey hair.
A tall silent boy gazing out one of the few windows into the courtyard. He traces his no longer ringed fingers along the surface.
A coughing bout in the hallway followed by the rush of feet and a familiar loud voice shouting them off.
Echoes of their more vibrant selves, haunting the halls.
She walks into the cafeteria and stops. There are voices but she’s already through the door before she realizes it, eyes darting to the table to the right of the door. Sitting there in what sounded like a disagreement were Shuichi and Maki, with Himiko sitting idly beside the latter cheek resting on the heel of her hand while gazing at the door. The other two don’t notice her but the small redhead locks eyes with her instantly. Her posture stiffens as her eyes widen. The two girls stare at each other for a moment, the conversation a buzz in the background as the air thickens. Shuichi, who’s back is to the door must have noticed because he stops mid-sentence and glances over his shoulder. He freezes.
It’s Maki who stands, nudging Himiko behind her, taking on that intimidating stance. She’s glaring daggers across the room at her, and Tsumugi backs up involuntarily, right into the security guard who was following her into the room. Clumsily, she stumbles forwards to step out of his way and adjusts her glasses, the other three’s eyes still locked on her. Not wanting to leave, but unsure of what to do with herself, Tsumugi steps forwards to the adjacent table and quietly takes a seat.
The eyes on her and the silence are wrong. She’s not someone who gets stared at, at least not when she’s not trying to… this isn’t what she should… what should she…
A placid smile spreads on her face and she nods her head to them.
“Good morning, Harukawa-san, Yumeno-san, Saihara-kun.”
Her eyes squint almost closed in the forced smile, her cheeks pushing upwards under her glasses that help mask the dark bags.
Practiced. Placating. A face both of her make.
Painful.
“What do you want?”
Himiko isn’t who anyone expects to talk clearly, Shuichi turning to look at her. Maki squares her shoulders, trying to seem bigger. But the smallest of them narrows her eyes and waits.
“Nothing in particular, really,” Tsumugi drawls, folding her hands in her lap. Out of sight as they clench and fidget.
“Oh sure, your goons won’t give us a moment alone, but you don’t want anything. Like we’d believe that,” Maki says before Himiko can continue, venom in every word. Himiko’s mouth hangs open in the interruption, closing again with a pout.
“My goons,” Tsumugi repeats, noting the pointed look at the security detail that followed her in. “Fortunately, they should have provided you all with your contracts by now, and you can see your rights there. Please do use them to your benefit.”
“Oh right. The contracts we don’t even remember signing,” Himiko mutters.
“That is outlined in them as well.”
“This lack of contact with the outside was not, though,” Shuichi cuts in. The sureness there is from someone who clearly read the contract over more than once. Someone looking for loopholes. The memories he received must still be working overtime. She wonders if he’s as glad to have them as he was when he was when the process was explained? Probably not.
“That’s not my area, I’m afraid the simulation and preparations were my purview, Saihara-kun. Feel free to exert your rights in your contract, though. The company has to uphold it.” The strained smile slides into a more natural one as she continues to speak. It’s easier when it’s not about her.
Shuichi raises a brow. Perhaps he had expected resistance? “So they’re breaking their agreement then, holding us here?” he continues, as if to clarify.
“If that’s what the contract promises, then I suppose that’s the case,” Tsumugi answers. They should feel fortunate they got the opportunity to sign those at all, she thinks. Her hands clench tighter. They are fortunate they don’t remember.
“Like we trust you to keep promises,” Maki spat.
“You don’t have to,” she tuts, “Just use the contract, it’s your tool.”
Maki moves so quickly that thankfully Tsumugi doesn’t have the time to flinch. Himiko grabs her by the crook of the elbow before she’s rounded the table towards her.
“Stop it, let’s just talk somewhere else.”
Himiko stands, and moments later Shuichi follows suit. Maki’s expression doesn’t show any agreement, but she leaves with them nonetheless, glaring back over her shoulder on the way out. The security officers never stray from their posts. As soon as she’s sure they’re gone, Tsumugi lets out a held breath. A few moments pass, and she finally goes to get her meal.
She hopes that they really heard her. Their contracts are so much more flexible than her own. They hadn’t bequeath their identities, their citizenships, they weren’t intellectual property of the company no matter how some of the creative team liked to spin it.Their participation was a limited matter, and she was sure her classmates could argue their way through with that fine print at their disposal. She knew that much. She’d seen them face harder things than legal jargon together of course!
...Her classmates? No. Her cast. Her co-stars. A grimace grows on her face as she returns to sit. They never once had a class together, and the game could hardly be called one… not now. Not with her. Together they could bond in their ignorance. Her contract wasn’t flexible. Her consent was different than theirs. She wasn’t new, or at least not all new.
And she couldn’t leave until they decided the best way for them to kick her out. She takes a bite of her food thoughtfully.
Hey guys it’s been a bit since I posted marker doodles, so have some I sent to folks with purchases from my shop! I still have charms and prints available there if anyone would like anything~
Find my shop here:
https://caeboa.bigcartel.com/
Bonus:
Description: Kaede makes a cafe date with someone she hasn't seen since the game, despite her friend's warnings.
Word Count: 1429
Read on AO3 here
Out the window fat snowflakes fluttered through the air, some sticking to the glass, some joining the grey slush in the street as people crowded the sidewalk. Mud and snow mixed and tracked on people’s boots, trailing in puddles into the little cafe. In her corner booth near the window, Kaede was glad to be out of it for a bit. She traced a finger along the chilly glass, drawing out the staff and bars. Idly she plotted the clef and notes to a song in the condensation, wondering if this was as terrible an idea as everyone else had thought it was. She lifted her finger from her budding verse, slick with the cold and wet of the outdoors and lightly wiped it on her sleeve. When she glanced up she realized her guest had arrived.
Standing next to the table, almost tentatively waiting for an invitation or permission, was a familiar bespectacled girl, her long blue hair tied in a braid, and peppered in already melting powder snow. Tsumugi Shirogane looked largely the same as she remembered, her vacant eyes, pale and smooth features. Kaede had thought her pretty when they first met too. The cosplayer hadn’t really been around when they had all come to, due to tensions. She was honestly surprised she looked this way both in and out of the game. So many of the others couldn’t quite live up to the selves they expected in the mirror. Kaede sure didn’t see the picture perfect pianist in her own memories.
“Shirogane-san, please sit down,” Kaede said quickly, gesturing to the seat across from her, where the second menu sat. Tsumugi stares at her like a deer in headlights a moment longer, before removing her scarf and sliding down the bench to the offered spot. She mumbled a greeting, keeping her eyes down the entire time. The menu was now a subject of keen interest, apparently. Kaede sighed a bit. She wasn’t sure what she had expected honestly. “Wasn’t hard to find the place, was it?”
“Ah, no it was pretty close to the station, like you said,” Tsumugi replied, adjusting her glasses and glancing to the side.
“Good,” Kaede said brightly, smiling. She didn’t see it.
The silence stretched on as Tsumugi removed her coat. It finally broke when the waitress came around. She took out her notepad and pencils and flashed them a grin.
“Welcome, are you ladies ready to order?”
“Oh, I think we’ll need a minute, she just got-”
“I’ll have milk tea and an omurice special, thank you,” Tsumugi said, cutting her off, handing the menu back. Kaede blinked.
“Uh, I’ll have one, too then! With a melon soda.”
The waitress wrote the orders down and headed back to the kitchen with the menus. The two of them sat opposite each other awkwardly. Kaede smiled again, wincing as Tsumugi’s eyes drifted to the window with no menu to read anymore. She had to take the initiative here, didn’t she.
“So, Shirogane-san, you look good. How have you been?”
“I’ve been the same.”
A pause.
“Well, that’s good to hear! I’ve been doing okay, I just got a new job and-”
“Akamatsu, why did you invite me here?”
“-it’s not music but- huh?”
“Why did you ask me to meet with you? Did something happen? Is this about your contract, or is there an issue? What is it?”
Tsumugi had finally met her eye, and looked so serious. Her eyebrows were drawn together as she searched Kaede’s face. The intensity rose out of nowhere as she leaned in. Kaede could see her own face reflected in her glasses as they fogged up. The blonde pressed back from the table as Tsumugi clasped her hand.
“What do you mean!? Nothing’s happened.”
“Is it paparazzi? Blackmail? I can’t help unless I know the details.”
“Shiroga-”
“I know you didn’t want to stay in contact with the company, but the resources are in place to protect your-”
“Tsumugi, stop! I’m fine!”
The blue haired woman stopped, confusion washing over her expression. The intensity gave way to a nervous look that was more recognizable. She retracted her hand and adjusted her glasses.
“Then, what did you need me for?”
Kaede ran a hand through the back of her hair, this time being the one to break eye contact as her cheeks brightened. No wonder scheduling this had been so easy. She hoped nothing important had been cancelled to run out and see her like this. Beating around the bush would only make matters worse, so Kaede swallowed her nerves and told the truth.
“I wanted to see you, and to try out this cafe together. I didn’t need anything.”
The waitress returned with their drinks, placing them on the table and utterly failing to read the awkward air as she asked if they wanted anything else while they waited. Kaede forced a polite smile, thanked her assuring they were fine. By the time she left, Tsumugi looked like she wanted a map to the conversation. She opened her mouth, and paused with it open. She closed it again. She looked up again, and finally spoke.
“Why?”
“Because we said we would when we got out, right?” Kaede stirred at her soda with her straw, bubbles sticking to it. “I know we didn’t get a lot of time to talk during… or after… but I meant what I said about us getting new hobbies, and maybe going out to cafes. Trying new things.” She sipped her soda, hoping her face wasn’t anywhere near as red as it felt.
“You still wanted to do that? With me?” Tsumugi tilted her head, incredulous in tone. “You watched the game, and you spoke to the others.”
“I did, but I also heard them talk about me, and I’ll be honest, they aren’t all the best judges of character. So I figure I can do some getting to know you myself, and then see what I think after it all. Though I guess I should have said that when I contacted you, haha, I just sort of assumed you meant what you said. Or that even if you didn’t, you wouldn’t mind? Kind of silly now that I’m saying it. I don’t really know how you see me.”
“I don’t mind, no,” Tsumugi adjusted her glasses and took a sip from her milk tea. There was some quiet as they both drank, the noise of the cafe around them light at this hour. She thoughtfully glanced back down and then continued, “But what do you mean how I see you? Shouldn’t it be the other way around?”
Kaede bent the plastic straw a little between her fingers and bit her lip.
“Well, you know, the whole… fiction thing. You’re not like the rest of us, you’re… from here. To me I don’t think I’d be able to tell the difference really, but I would totally understand if you didn’t want to hang around with someone when you had a part in writing it all?”
She paused letting the straw snap straight again.
“With all you said about what’s real and-”
“NO!” The interruption is loud enough that the cafe gets a bit hushed. Outside the window though the snowy bustling world continued on, unperturbed. A bit flustered, Tsumugi shakes her head.
“I… a lot of what I said there was what needed to be said, to end the charade, but… I never thought of you as fake. Everything you said to me felt real, whether you knew the truth or not. You’re the one who realized your only hobby was piano, and made the plans. If anything I’m the one who’s fake. I don’t have the excuse of memories.” Tsumugi tugs at her braid almost anxiously, shame growing on her face.
“Well… can you let me see if I believe that then? While we try out cafes, or cooking or… something?”
“I… sure. I’d love to.”
They smiled at each other a moment, before becoming acutely aware that the waitress has been waiting for their exchange to end, grinning at the edge of their booth. She placed the meals down in front of them, complete with hearts drawn in ketchup on top of the omurice.
“Bon appetit~!” She said with a wink, before she skittered back to the counter.
This time Tsumugi went beet red as Kaede laughed. They would definitely need to try some other cafes, lest they get a reputation at this one. The chatter returned in the other booths, they started the meal, and started over fresh.
