Private Savior

[Viers Connory]

//: Mrurh'en'lase | Hel //:
//: Coruscant Alliance Recovery Wing //:

Amber eyes opened wide, and her lips parted for air in a panic. Air was cycled into her lungs, a sensation that she didn't realize she would miss. Viers was unsure where she was; her hearts raced rapidly, which sounded an alarm. A woman's face appeared as she patted the tank, muffled words came through the glass, and Viers calmed down. Looking around, she found herself suspended in the gel-like liquid she had seen Kaska in. Hands moved along her slender frame, scars lingered where the blasters had torn through her, but she was alive.

Mechanical sounds echoed around the tank, and Viers looked up and saw that the pod's lid was being removed, and a pair of strong hands grabbed ahold of the bars that connected to the pack that was taped onto her back. A male nurse grunted as he lifted her out of the bacta and sat her on edge. He began to pull the mask and the wires off of her gently while cleaning her off.

There was something familiar about the grunting and the way she was lifted out of the bacta. Her memories were hazy, but she remembered someone lifting her from the ground. First, a woman's voice she recognized as the SICA troopers and then another she couldn't quite place. Still, she tried not to think about it too hard, knowing that his name would become real again when she thought about it.

The mask fell away, and Viers inhaled again; the sharp coolness of the air filled her lungs, and she did it again just to make sure. Her lips parted to speak, but nothing came out but a strained croak. "Don't speak, kid," The male Nurse responded as he finished cleaning her up and wrapped a gown around her sickly thin frame. "You were in there a while, got a lot of recovery still left." Viers nodded and allowed the man to carry her to a wheelchair that took her to another room. He left her alone, and she looked around to see where she was.

The room was a pure white, almost blinding her as she stared. A woman entered and drew a bath for the girl. The Nurse was gentle as she helped the Monk into the tub. It was warm, and Viers sighed contently for a moment - trying to forget everything that led up to this point. The woman didn't speak, allowing Viers to sink into her mind. Eyes carefully watched as attention was paid to each wound along her abdomen, arms, and back. As the Nurse began to clean her back, the girl shuddered when the Nurse gasped. Fingers traced along with the girl's brand, feeling the bumps of the material embedded into the symbol.

Looking over her shoulder, Viers' cold gaze told the Nurse to ignore it, and the cleaning continued down her back, following the scars from the fight and the network of black tattoos. When she was clean, Viers was taken down the ward; she stayed in the wheelchair as the Nurse did the paperwork before taking her to the room she was staying in. Glancing up, amber met deep crimson as Viers peered into one of the exam rooms.

Something familiar was in those eyes, but Viers' attention was pulled as the Nurse pushed her towards her room.​

 

[Mrurh'en'lase | Hel]

Equipment: Nothing at the Moment
Objective: Recover From Injuries
Target: Viers Connory
Location: Coruscant Alliance Recovery Wing

DAY 1​

The pain was sharp, like a million heated blades had been stuck inside her body all at once and were now in a continuous motion of stabbing over and over again into wounds that never healed. It was all around her, and within her. Bruising and internal injuries from the fall, gashes and slices from the fight against the undead legion, sprained tendons, and of course...the arm. That damned arm. Molten and cracked like an underwater volcano, with fissures that felt as deep as her bones and filled with a glow that made it impossible to examine the true severity of their damage to the arm as a whole.

She had been expecting to see blood pour from those fissures, the splits in her flesh that resembled glow sticks and bio-luminescent seaweed, but nothing came from them. Nothing but light and agony. But the pain was nothing compared to the smell, which was objectively worse. Burnt flesh, in her experience within the criminal underworld, had never smelled good unless it was bantha steaks or bacon. Those smelled salty and meaty and tasty.

The stench of the arm resembled that of dung steeped in old charcoal on an ever-burning fire constructed out of rotting wood. It sickened her - indicated by her complaining of it as well as several nausea and vomiting fits. Iit was clear that even the doctors and nurses tending to her injury could barely stand the stench in spite of their protective gear.

What made all of these injuries collectively worse was that no amount of anesthetics seemed to work during the initial hours of the procedures, either on numbing the pain or putting the hybrid to sleep. Each injection and dosage increase seemed to only have a negative effect on both, increasing both the suffering and her own energy, alertness, and vexation. In fact, during those initial hours following her retrieval from Ziost - the second time such a thing had happened - the hybrid's mood could only be described as apoplectic, with several machines being unintentionally broken beyond repair.

Such was her anger that many in the Recovery Wing felt that she would start targeting official personnel, eventually leading her to be brought to a specialized section of the Recovery Wing for "hyper-critical patients." Terminology for those who posed either great risk to themselves and/or others, or those who possessed great chances of dying without their own direct involvement.

Strangely, this privatized portion of the Recovery Wing allowed the hybrid to enter a much calmer state, enough so for the doctors and nurses to begin a proper in-depth analysis of the wounds she had sustained on Ziost. The physical and internal wounds sustained via the fall, undead legion, and overall duel with the beast Ulrich were easy enough to fix with Bacta, preventing her from gaining new scars and suffering continued internal bleeding. The arm, however, was a different story. When Bacta failed to work entirely, Mrurh'en'lase was subjected to worried and fractic examinations, which were as painful as one could expect, as merely touching it or moving it brought out a level of agony the hybrid had not felt since her first day as a mercenary.

"With the examinations you finally granted us, we have concluded that the...wounds on your left arm are of an...unusual nature," the doctor said as simply as he could. It was clear in their tone that they believed the notes of the hybrid's "limited" intelligence, which she now assumed were quite well-known this close to the temple. This earned the good man a derisive snort. "They are not typical with known burn injuries in our records. Even those suffered through the Force, as we have become accustomed to over the years. We will have to do further tests to see just how extensive these injuries are, and what their true nature is, so you will be admitted to this facility until we ascertain just what we are dealing with."

DAY 14​

"123 over 78. Your blood pressure is slightly elevated. Did you sleep well last night? How is your arm doing today?"

The asinine question came from the attending nurse just as it had the past nine days, and it was starting to aggravate the hybrid to no end because the answer was always the same. Everyday, she would come to this examination room only to be asked the same mundane questions over and over again. Does it still hurt? How is the pain today? Did you getting any sleep last night?

Yes, the arm hurt every second of the day, and yes it hurt every second of the night, making it nearly impossible for her to rest and relax and heal. The doctors had come up with nothing new in terms of what the hell the dragon had done, and the consulars and healers were taking their time getting to the recovery wing due to their own duties either on the front line or dealing with other, even more critical patients. Mrurh'en'lase's only shining example of recovery was her ability to finally get the arm put into a cast and sling to prevent it from moving and making the injuries worse, although this still resulted in excruciating pain as it was now more localized.

"Same as yesterday, Quinn," the hybrid finally said in a low growl as a shock shot up into her shoulder. "It...fracking hurts."

The nurse frowned and met the hybrid's red glare with a stern gaze, "Would you like an application of Bacta?"

Mrurh'en'lase cocked her head in surprise, "Bacta? Did you forget that didn't work at all? No, I don't want any fracking Bacta. I want the damn Jedi - my comrades - to get here and figure out what that monster did to my arm. I've been here 14 days already and not once have they shown up. What the hell is taking them so long? Am I not important?"

"I assure you that they will get here soon. They are dealing with patients who-"

Mrurh'en'lase grunted and indignantly flapped her good arm at the good nurse, turning away to look out into the blindingly white room that connected to the lodgings just as someone was wheeled in. "Are far more important than me, I got it. Figures."

Whatever the nurse said next was lost to the hybrid, who felt the world around her go blank and numb as her vision focused on the person in the wheelchair. It was only a quick moment that they shared looks, faster than one should have been able to use to recognize someone. But the hybrid had been trained to recognize people in only a moment's glance. Learning under a crime lord had its benefits from time to time, and this was one of those times, born out of per luck and happenstance.

She knew them, and how could she not? She had saved them after all.

As the person was wheeled away, the hybrid quickly rose to her feet, the protestations of her nurse a mere muffled buzzing in her ears as she walked out of the room to look down the hallway towards the lodgings. With purposeful quick steps, Mrurh'en'lase followed the wheelchair bound patient and her nurse to her room, ignoring the frantic words of the medical personnel concerned for her health.

Whether she caught them before they entered the room, or had to stand in the open doorway, the hybrid would still bluntly call out with a surprised smirk: "Hey! I know you!"

 

[Viers Connory]

//: Mrurh'en'lase | Hel //:
//: Coruscant Alliance Recovery Wing //:

Betty’s voice chattered to Viers, who had tuned the woman out. Her mind wandered back to the muscular figure; a girl, young like her, was being attended to. Those eyes felt familiar like she had seen them before, possibly in her dream-like state while in the bacta. A hand rested against her lips as she thought, trying to remember the dreams she had while lucid. Brief moments of what happened on Kryiss filled her mind; she remembered ash blonde hair, the smell of blood, and then those red eyes. But why?

The wheelchair stopped, causing Viers to snap out of her thoughts. She watched the nurse move and begin to set up the room for her. The room was simple, a bed, a window, and monitors.

Viers didn’t care though, she wanted to leave, to run away and never look back. Regret filled her chest as she turned away from the door’s entry. The death was on her hands, and how everything started to spiral out of control the moment, the Jedi entered her life. Foolishly, she had her head filled with romanced stories of war and how she needed to do her duty. Viers knew what her commitment was, and she ignored it to follow the fantastic dreams of a boy with a contagious smile.

While the girl drowned in her own sorrow, the commotion that occurred behind her went unnoticed. It wasn’t until the face that she had seen in the room previously came into view. Viers blinked a few times as she took in the height and size of the woman, but what had taken her back was her arm. Seeing it made Viers conscious of her own modifications and pulled up the hospital gown to cover the branding on her neck and shoulders along with hiding the intricate network of black inked tattoos. While the more unflattering parts of her vows were hidden, along with her arms, faint, almost keloid scars danced in a purposeful pattern - one that only the Monks would recognize.

Viers opened her mouth to speak, but only air and a frustrated groan escaped, and her eyes fell upon her nurse. “Oh, she can’t speak quit--” Betty stopped and tried to catch the fist that slammed into Viers’ chest. She coughed, and the rattling of phlegm shook in the back of her throat. “How?” was all Viers could choke out as she looked back at the tall hybrid girl. Betty stepped back as the girl pushed her offered hand away. She focused wholly on Hel now, “Who are...you?”

Viers knew who this was, standing beside her - she could almost smell the familiarity rolling off the essence of the Jedi.​

 

[Mrurh'en'lase | Hel]

Equipment: Nothing at the Moment
Objective: Recover From Injuries
Target: Viers Connory
Location: Coruscant Alliance Recovery Wing

​

The hybrid watched in confusion as the girl moved to cover what looked to be branding...scars...tattoos. An odd move for a warrior, she thought, as she was never one to cover anything of the sort - she would proudly display her arm to the girl if she could outside of the sling and cast. Scars and brands should be worn proudly as they show perseverance despite their existence, which was most prominently displayed on the hybrid's face with the long scar over her right eye.

A reminder of her time under Krirtelox Sketter, who had by that point no doubt expanded his standing in the Hutt Empire on her lost wealth. Shards of anger at the thought of the slimeball's crusted face spiked her heart for a moment, perhaps noticeable enough for this wounded girl.

Girl. She was no less young than Mrurh'en'lase herself. If she was a girl, then so was she, and she fancied herself a grown woman by experience. Besides, how many other Jedi could say they became a prominent hitwoman and mercenary for several upstart crime lords in their teenage years? And this...woman herself had clearly seen the strides of war like many before her, but in a way that many hadn't. She fought to her limit - that much was clear - and had seemingly gone well beyond it in the name of whatever duty she had set for herself or had been set for her by another.

The hybrid respected that immediately and would respect it even if the warrior turned out to be an irksome cow. Even the most vexatious of people could earn respect, but to earn one's liking...that took a lot more effort. Still, Mrurh'en'lase had few friends and was willing to try to see just how grateful this warrior would be once she found out who the hybrid truly was.

"My name is Mrurh'en'lase. Uh...Hel for-for short. Padawan. Um...you were on Krayiss in...what I guessed was a courtyard," she said with another smirk that turned into a brief teeth-flashing grin as the memories of her success brought out a strong surge of joy and pride, although there was an underlying sense of worry regarding speaking to the warrior.

The accent she had inherited from her mother - the Zeltron's accent - was thicker than one would expect, and thicker than Mrurh'en'lase would have liked. She worried every time she spoke to someone she was genuinely interested in speaking to that they would misunderstand her - something that had thankfully been avoided thus far. Thusly, to this warrior, she attempted to speak slowly and enunciate clearly, although her joy still made her stutter or stop from time to time. "Um...you were dying on a bench. I assume you won, but you were still very injured so I-I-I, uh...saved you. Carried you back to the Alliance in a jiffy. Guess you were...brought here coincidentally e-enough."

The smile widened when she finished her spiel and she leaned against the doorframe with her right shoulder, her hand resting against the thigh of her hospital gown, which was naturally much larger than most others. Nurse Quinn attempted to get her patient's attention and even went as far as to mildly threaten confinement to her room if she did not stop bothering other patients, but her efforts were ignored, prompting a groan of disapproval from the elderly lady. She would quickly depart for the front desk after more of her attempts were rebuked with silence, likely to contact the doctor in charge of the operations in this part of the Recovery Wing.

Mrurh'en'lase continued, saying: "I guess since you're here...um...how are you doing? Have you been recovering well?"

 

[Viers Connory]

//: Mrurh'en'lase | Hel //:
//: Coruscant Alliance Recovery Wing //:

Viers nodded along, following her savior's retelling of what happened on Kryiss. The story filled in the holes that Viers was missing, and while she was grateful for the rescue, she had made her peace with dying. Atonement, a life for a life, would have cleansed her soul and allowed her to retain the vows she had taken. Being absorbed with her own sorrow and self-pity, she had nearly missed the hints of pride the hybrid was displaying.

While Viers was sad, she could tell that the moment was essential to the Padawan before her, and she forced a thin smile on her face. "Thank you." she felt her voice getting more robust with the small amounts of use. She wondered how long it had been since Kryiss, but looking down and how malnourished she looked - she figured 'a long time' was enough explanation. It was hard to pull away; as Hel told the story, Viers found the weight on her shoulders lighten, even if it was just a little. It was a good feeling that something good had happened.

"I - um," The Corellian started; she noticed Betty had taken a moment to continue to make up the room; it made the monk uneasy. Having someone - a stranger take care of her only brought guilt. The feeling was written all over her face as she tried to focus on the conversation. "I'm Viers." She paused, catching her breath and clearing her throat. "Feeling? Okay, I guess. Just out of the bacta tank. You?" Catching a glimpse again at the arm in the sling, the wounds were curious and Viers wanted to know more about it - especially since it drew attention from her.

A hand rested against her forehead as her elbow used the armrest for support. The small gesture caused the too-big gown to slip, allowing the branding to show. If Hel paid attention, tiny specks of blue would catch the fluorescent lighting in the room, indicating something was embedded into each of the branding scars.

"I'm not sure how much longer - I'm going to be here." She quietly spoke as Betty came over to her. "Come on, let's get you into bed." The nurse leaned forward to help cradle Viers, who instantly stiffened. She didn't want the help and was tired of being a burden to the woman. A hand pushed the nurse away, and Betty quickly backed off. She had dealt with enough military and Jedi folk to know the stubbornness.

Viers took a deep breath and pushed herself from the wheelchair. Her arms shook, but she stood if only for a second. The slightly atrophied muscles ached and lacked the support she needed to walk, but she still took a step. One after another, soon she was near the bed, and her knees buckled, and she collapsed. Frustrated tears welled in her eyes, but she didn't let them fall. Reaching up, she grabbed the fabric of the blanket and began to stand again with evident struggle.

Betty waited and looked to Hel, almost wondering if Viers would accept the Padawan's aid over hers.​

 

[Mrurh'en'lase | Hel]

Equipment: Nothing at the Moment
Objective: Recover From Injuries
Target: Viers Connory
Location: Coruscant Alliance Recovery Wing

​

There was an admixed sense of admiration and discomfort that the hybrid felt pulse in her heart and mind as she affixed her crimson eyes on this Viers. She was a conflicted sort, that much was obvious, for she answered Mrurh'en'lase's questions with short breaths, stops, and stutters. The hybrid knew such a confliction well, as it was one that she lived with every second of the day - Chiss, Zeltron, Dark, Light. It was clear that this conflict - this internal division - was more than just that brought on by pain. Like an acorn in the dirt, this was something was buried deep in her mind. And although Mrurh'en'lase's Zeltronish abilities were - once again - closed off with effort, some of what this woman felt eked its way through into the hybrid's own mind.

From what seeped into her cortexes, what this Viers felt was self-loathing, a type of guilt bearing the texture of wet sand in the palm of a dry hand. Mrurh’en’lase felt it on her own palm left unafflicted by flame and Force. The hybrid briefly examined this hand, twisting it in ways so as to manipulate that sand before it fell off in clumps into nothingness. Her momentary glance away from the warrior allowed her to miss the brief glint of blue from the woman's brands, although this would certainly become a point of conversation later on in their interactions.

When she turned back, Mrurh'en'lase finally realized that the woman had asked her own questions in return. Curiously, however, the hybrid felt no compunction to answer them. Mostly because this Viers had begun to attempt to move onto the hospital bed, sans assistance from her nurse. She wondered with furrowed brows if this warrior - who had neared the line of death much closer than most who have ever survived encountering it - would be able to regain or retain her strength to move. Part of her felt compelled to help the woman in this effort, while another felt that it would be best to leave her be. After all, she thought, this Viers could view such efforts with disdain, which the hybrid absolutely did not want to bring upon herself from her one victory in life.

So, she decided to go to the middle ground, initially, encouraging the woman with silent nods and some monosyllabic words. It was the best she could do short of actually walking over and lifting the woman, but again....she didn't want to risk that. At least, until the nurse looked to her after her charge buckled over onto the floor. For that beat, their eyes met and the hybrid could tell quite easily that this nurse was wonder if her charge would accept the aid of her getting into the hospital bed.

Quickly following this stare, the struggle of her one victory - and the chance that she would further injure herself in her stubbornness - proved too much for the hybrid to bear. She couldn't allow her achievement to be tarnished in any way.

With a resigned sigh, the hybrid entered the room and approached the struggling Viers. If the woman would allow her, she would bend down to sling her head and neck underneath the woman's weakened right arm, letting it wrap around for stability. She would then begin to slowly lift herself upward, taking the woman with her in the trajectory, while simultaneously hooking her free hand behind the woman's legs. While even moving it - with what motion she could - brought on severe pain, the hybrid would then jut the elbow of her ruined arm forward for the warrior's back to rest on for a few moments. Despite the agony that would shoot through her body, the hybrid would now effectively and effortlessly be carrying the woman like one would carry a dog or a baby or something made of paper. If the warrior held in her arms offered little to no resistance - although the hybrid would be uncertain if she even could manage it - she would silently quick-step her way to the opposite side of the bed and lay her down.

 

[Viers Connory]

//: Mrurh'en'lase | Hel //:
//: Coruscant Alliance Recovery Wing //:

Anger flared as she sat there because she was too weak to stand. Viers found herself wanting to scream, realizing that she couldn't complete a simple task. Everything would have been better if she had died. If that had happened, she wouldn't be on the floor, weak from the heroic efforts of the Jedi behind her. The anger turned into a desire to turn and shout at the Padawan. Viers wanted to yell and scream, casting the blame of her life on the girl - blaming her for the pain and embarrassment she was feeling.

It wasn't Mruruh'en'lase's fault. They were comrades in arms, despite not knowing each other. Viers was fighting for the Alliance and had foolishly made the mistake of splitting off from the group. The sudden memory of the others made her chest tighten, choking the air from her throat. She could feel Hel move, her presence was warm, and Viers felt her body tense as the Padawan's touch made itself known. Narrowed eyes found the woman's crimson gaze, catching it for a moment. She was in pain as well, yet still, she sacrificed herself once more to help Viers.

Seeing this, feeling the security of the hold, familiarity sunk in, and Viers melted. She allowed the hold, knowing that she wasn't going to get anywhere without it. Viers could feel the urge to reach out towards Hel and help the woman sensing the pain in the damaged arm that supported her. Instead, she allowed her small frame to be cradled and gently laid into the bed.

As Hel pulled away, Viers held gently onto the fabric of the Padawan's top. The material flowed through her weak grip, but she hoped it was enough to keep the hybrid's attention on her.

"Why?" The simple question forced its way from between her dried lips. Her words choked as she tried to continue. She wanted to know why the Jedi was determined to help, why she was here checking on her, and why she had sacrificed herself yet again to make sure she was okay.

Tiny fists gripped the duvet of the medical bed tightly; Viers didn't know if she should feel grateful or angry at her savior. The mixture of feelings began to eat at her; every fiber of her being didn't know what would come next. Her life hung onto one thing, and now that was gone. Finding her voice again, she clarified her question. "Why did--" Viers pulled the blankets around her frame, trying to find some sense of comfort - an anchor to ground herself. "You-- why did you save me? Why me? Weren't there others - those that are a part of your order?"

Leaning back, she felt the question release some weight off her chest, "There were Jedi - you should have saved them."​

 

[Mrurh'en'lase | Hel]

Equipment: Nothing at the Moment
Objective: Recover from Injuries
Targets: Viers Connory

​

The woman was surprisingly externally calm through the whole ordeal of being lifted and carried, although the conflict of emotions within was still felt. This warrior wanted to achieve the feat of standing on her own, to recover on her own and suffer in silence for some anger that was hot within her heart and mind. Mrurh'en'lase was all too familiar with such desires, and any other time would have left the woman to do so as she internally wished. It was within the rights of someone to brood in solitude.

But this was a rare time, the only time for the young Padawan to keep her one achievement alive and comfortable. Safe. So she carried the woman with ease, her weight negligible even with a horrendously injured arm and one good arm to support it. No amount of searing pain would stop her from doing this for her rescuee.

Once this was done, however, the Hybrid wholly expected to be removed from the room, either by the warrior's nurse or the woman herself. And she was okay with this expectation, for the woman would at least be comfortable in her bed and able to be attended to by the facility. But this did not come to pass. Instead, the Hybrid found herself meekly held in place by the small hands of her rescuee whose disturbances were rocking at greater heights. She opted to listen to whatever she had to say, perhaps a bit too curious and eager for her own good.

"Why?" she asked, weak and coughing through dried lips. "Why did--you--why did you save me? Why me? Weren't there others - those that are a part of your order? There were Jedi - you should have saved them."

A set of questions asked with an improving air of confidence in their asking, yet still laced with a conflict far too personal for the Hybrid to be directly involved in. At least for now. Mrurh'en'lase was quiet for a good few moments as she thought on what to say. How to answer this warrior's inquiries in a way that could satisfy her curiosity.

Finally, she began with: "If you want the short end of the answer...I stumbled upon you by chance. I had crashed my ship and wandered for a long time before finding and saving you. You were the only person I saw that wasn't dead or too far away."

Harsh but honest words in regards to a literalist's reconstruction of the events. The Hybrid had the feeling that answering with anything but the truth before delving into other reasonings would have been far too much conjecture for this woman to deal with in a time of lacking solid explanation. Yet, naturally, there was far more to the story than just happenstance. And so, Mrurh'en'lase began to pace around the room and continued with: "But, the truth is not so literal, I feel. When...when I was wandering that planet, trying to find a way out to safety, I felt suffocated by...by...doubt. Failure. I have yet to impress my Master and have constantly let down my compatriots in the Order. Hell, look at my arm. Just another instance of that. So I was lost in a world of war, unsure of where to go, where to fight, where to flee, hounded by this bircisb of a man who taunted me."

The Hybrid stopped at the foot of the woman's bed and stared at the floor, taking in each clear detail of the polished linoleum and the lines between each slab. Perfection in construction, flawlessness in maintenance. The Coruscanti way. She then turned her gaze back up to her rescuee and met her gaze. She was silent for a long time during that, unsure of how else to continue her explanation. It all felt so fantastical when said aloud, but it was her truth.

Finally, she gave a light shrug and said: "At least, for a while. I somehow found my way near the exfiltration site for the Jedi and was...ready to get out and run away again. But...then I...felt something. A faint light in the distance, like a white dwarf struggling to remain lit. It was an urge to make someone from a long time ago proud of me. To make some success out of all of this mess. So I followed it, far into the warzone, and somehow...found you. Slumped over and barely living, having just gotten out of some ter bert'ocah with another fighter. On any other day, I would have left you to die and moved on to find someone more certain to live. But something about that spirit of yours...to defy death with that level of injuries plaguing your body. I didn't know it then, but thinking on it now...you were strong and I could not ignore that. That's what drew me to find you in the first place, I guess. I just wanted to have one achievement in this life, one saving grace for why the galaxy is so k'pah right now, and saving someone as strong as you seemed like a really good option for that. Saving a...a fellow Jedi would have been a really nice substitute for that, I guess, but...it had to be you. I don't know how else to explain it without going on more ramblings."