opposite house [emma]

december 2001

Ireland had come in second in the group phase of the World Cup. It was through no fault of Quinn’s, of course. She had caught the snitch in every Irish match this year. They had won plenty. It just seemed that Egypt didn’t lose quite enough, putting them just two points ahead of Ireland in the standings. Normally, the Seeker would drown her sorrows in herbal tea or whisky or both -- those things were unfortunately forbidden to her now. She was thirty-three weeks pregnant -- no, thirty-four, she was losing count she had been pregnant for. so. long.

So she had returned to her other coping mechanism: flying. Her healer had told her she could fly as long as she was comfortable; she might have needed to switch brooms to a slightly lesser and slower model with a more accommodating seat, but she had still been able to participate in practice, continue doing her drills, keep catching snitches. Her reflexes certainly weren’t suffering from all of this. There was an understanding with the Falcons’ beaters to not use her as target practice, at least ever since she had told her team that she was expecting. It was a weird conversation, especially the part about how she had done her best to conceal it from them for nearly six months (before her body betrayed her and wouldn’t fit into anything).

Once it was made clear that she had won the League while pregnant, everything seemed slightly more acceptable. Sure, other concerned parties might not have been too keen about her continued flying well into her third trimester, but she would start taking others’ direction once they started carrying her child -- so basically, never. So, she had flying.

Until now, that is.

Quinn had returned to Falmouth after her last group stage game and everything seemed fine enough, all things considered. It wasn’t until after training -- after! -- that her manager pulled her aside and told her the news: ‘for the health and safety of all involved parties she would no longer be permitted to fly in any British and Irish League sanctioned event, including training sessions’. It had been a courtesy to let her fly this one last time, apparently.

She wasted no time (maybe a little time considering she couldn’t see her feet and needed help in and out of her shoes) before making her way to the Ministry, fully intent on seeing the Head of the Department of Games and Sports himself. A strongly worded letter would not be strong enough in this case. She didn’t consider making an appointment, just assumed that people knew the intimate details of how the reigning championship team worked.

They really should be expecting her.

Since publicly coming clean about expecting a child with Oliver Wood, Quinn had stopped trying to hide it, preferring to show off what she could, wearing things that were form fitting or really accentuated her bump, eager for that extra bit of attention she could get. The positive attention had been outweighing the negative feelings, the swollen ankles and sore back, etc, that kept her moving back and forth on the idea of wanting another child after this. Of course, if she would be required to stop flying for those kids too, would they really be worth it? Well, yes probably, but she had to make a point.

It was strange being at the Ministry without intending to see a family member and she nearly left the lift on the wrong floor before remembering where she was headed. To her credit, however, she found herself on the correct floor, heading as quickly and purposefully as she possibly could towards the back where the most important offices were situated. She rounded a corner a bit too quickly and nearly took out another woman, literally; her belly was a good deal farther ahead than she was. Her hands instinctively flew out to wrap around what parts of hers she could reach, taking a step back with a hurried apology, not attempting to help the other woman catch her balance at all. It took her a second to long to recognize her, but once she did, she couldn’t have been happier to almost run into someone.

Emma Hennings was the assistant to the very man she was here to see. Never mind that she genuinely liked the girl in her own right, but she had to have priorities (before she completely forgot the reason for being there, if her pregnancy brain had anything to say for it). Quinn beamed, shifting her hands to rest a bit more comfortably on the highest part of her bump. “So, so sorry. Don’t want to take up too much of your time but we really should catch up in a mo! I need to speak with Mr Gardner just now, though.” She smiled again and attempted to move around her friend, but the hallway was small and Quinn was certainly anything but.

@Emma Hennings

‘Right, since Fletcher’s out again this week I’ll need to have that notice sent out no later than tomorrow… probably shouldn’t be later than the end of the day today, though… ugh damn it then there’s the second draft of that bloody letter to review…’

Mumbling internally to herself and preoccupied with her mental checklist, Emma was paying considerably less proprioceptive attention than usual. The short walk to the breakroom was deeply embedded in her motor memory and her feet carried her without conscious thought, taking full advantage of her distracted mental state and rounding the corner perhaps more sharply than usual.

“Oof!”
The brunette gave a muffled squeak at the sudden materialization before her, stopping short and pivoting sharply away to avoid a collision, steadying herself via the corner of the intern’s (mercifully currently unoccupied) desk. At least her Quidditch reflexes were still firmly intact, for the most part; her workout routine was most assuredly not, these days. Oops.

“Sh— ah, Merlin… so sorry, my fault, are you alright?” Her pulse was jumping in her throat, and the first thing her gaze met when she lifted it from the ground was a pair of hands clasped protectively over a heavily-pregnant belly. There was a wild moment of panic – she’d nearly run smack into a pregnant woman – before the pieces fell abruptly into place. Her cerulean gaze flicked upward quickly, and a wave of relief hit her upon recognizing Quinn Regan.

Emma managed to pull herself together in time to process the older Slytherin’s comment, and immediately the Junior Assistant/ first-line-of-security alarm bells started going off in her head. Quinn was being perfectly pleasant; but from what Emma had learned this morning, she knew exactly why the Irish Seeker was so intent on seeing Emma’s boss.

The general ‘protocol’ when it came to confronting a potentially… displeased… League member requesting to see Mr. Gardner tended to be a bit of a stall tactic on the front end. One of the assistants – usually Emma – would perform the expected task of eliciting a reason for the visit: but as a potential defusing or damage-control measure as well as for proper etiquette reasons. There hadn’t been any terribly exciting or dramatic incidents since she’d started working at the Ministry, which was mildly disappointing; but she’d heard stories from senior staff that’d had them all rolling in their seats to hear.

In truth, in recent memory, the major subject of gossip had nearly just taken her out.
News that Quinn was carrying [member=23563]Oliver Wood[/member]’s child had, naturally, spread like wildfire, and Emma was fairly certain she’d read the gamut of all possible responses to Quinn’s decision to keep flying over the past few weeks: from supportive and inspired, to positively appalled and calling for her suspension under the citation of ‘blatant disregard for and at unnecessary risk to the child.’ Of course, letters on the matter from League fans had come pouring in, Emma had delightedly offloaded the responsibility of responding to the majority of these onto the intern. Though, she’d had pity on him at the look on his face when she deposited the first few hours’ worth in front of him that first day, and so she’d helped him draft a few general templates to use.

“He’s actually in a meeting right now – how can I help?”

He was, truthfully, in a meeting – had been for the better part of the past hour – and so this wasn’t a pure stall tactic. And she’d heard the news only this morning that the League had opted to suspend Quinn from further participation until the baby was born; asking why she was there would be a downright stupid question, and even though the brunette was effectively powerless in this situation, she felt obligated to at least as if there was anything she could do. She’d had the opportunity to spend time with the older Slytherin on multiple work-related occasions over the past year or so, and Emma had come to see Quinn as something quite close to a friend. Who would have thought getting trapped in a revolving door together could foster such a friendship?

Unsurprisingly undeterred, Quinn made to squeeze by Emma; the younger Slytherin raised an eyebrow, but made no move to get out of the way.
“C’mon, you know I can’t let you stroll on down there and kick down the door. Much as I’d be amused to see it,” she added in honest afterthought with a grin. “Besides,” – she dropped her voice conspiratorially then – “I think the lock’s on ‘Do Not Disturb,’ which he really only uses for the bigwig meetings. Zapped the intern last week when he got the schedule wrong, so I heard.”

She glanced over her shoulder at the still-closed office door, biting her lower lip thoughtfully before turning back to her friend, touching her gently on the elbow.
“Have some tea with me while we wait? It’s been almost an hour… can’t imagine he’ll be in there much longer.”

[[ took some small liberties [member=23695]Taed[/member] haha – let me know if this is okay! ]]

Quinn pursed her lips, ensuring one more time that her belly was safely out of harm’s way. She quirked an eyebrow as Emma apologized; she really ought to insist that the other woman had nothing to apologize for as Quinn had been at fault, but she had places to be, department heads to plead with, quidditch leagues to stay in. She brushed off the question of her wellbeing with a wave of her hand, keen to be on her way again.

She arched an eyebrow, her gaze flicking from Emma’s face to the hallway behind her and back again. He was in a meeting? She really didn’t care at this point. Whatever he was meeting about or meeting with wasn’t as important as Quinn’s right to fly. A meeting with anyone but Quinn: rubbish. By the time his meeting was over, she might not remember why she was in the building in the first place. Just this morning she had lost the dog and looked for him for half an hour before remembering that they certainly didn’t have a dog.

She huffed -- she meant to merely exhale sharply but being so pregnant exaggerated all her noises -- and shifted her hands, making another move to walk around Emma, who didn’t budge an inch.

It was hard to believe that she could feel any more annoyed than she already was, but somehow she managed. “Right, the lock’s on,” she repeated, skipping her assurance that she wasn’t wearing the right shoes to kick down his door. She liked Emma more when they were stuck in a door together, not blocking the way to a more important one. She wasn’t going to let something so trivial as a lock stop her. “I don’t care,” she lied, caring profusely about being shocked by said lock. She shifted her hands again to protect as much real estate of her belly as possible.

She bit her bottom lip as Emma glanced back to the door, weighing her chances for being able to successfully push past her. But still the hallway was too small and Emma was too much in the way, and she stayed still. Foiled again by this damn pregnancy. Quinn sighed, forcing herself to smile, her breathing starting to slow to an almost normal rate.

There were two options here, really: 1) she could excuse herself to the loo and try to get around Emma then, or 2) let Emma make her tea and just bide her time until she talked to Gardner, let her anger bubble up, and handle the whole situation much less diplomatically than she would have done originally.

The latter option seemed far more likely and far more enjoyable. Her smile softened into something more sincere. She had time to kill, even if he would be much longer. It wasn’t like she had practice to get to or anything. “It’ll have to be herbal,” she roundabout agreed. She didn’t bother specifying any further, knowing full well already that any place that sold tea in the building didn’t have anything she would enjoy. And that was on a normal, not-pregnant sort of day. Never mind that her tastes were much more particular these days.

“Do you, erm,” she started, keeping her smile going, “You don’t know anything about--” she paused, not sure why she was asking. It didn’t matter what Emma knew, she supposed, even though she assumed Quinn’s fate was common knowledge in the department. It wasn’t like Emma would be able to help, as much as Quinn might want her to. At least she had offered tea. “Sorry, yeah, tea sounds great.” She’d still be pregnant and would certainly still have a point to make after they ha a cup.

Emma waited, slightly tensed, as she watched the gears turn in Quinn’s brain, calculating. Honestly she wouldn’t have been surprised if the older woman decided to just bowl her over, so fierce was the glint in her eye. But as the seconds ticked by she observed Quinn come to a conclusion, expression softening all the while, and the Slytherin relaxed with an inward sigh of relief when her friend finally conceded.

The twenty-one-year-old’s expression brightened as she gestured her friend to the small breakroom, choosing one of the tables that was not in plain view of the doorway to afford Quinn some semblance of privacy if she wanted it; with the added benefit of delaying the Seeker from actively seeking out Gardner in all her Irish fury.
“Great! Not to worry, I’ve got a whole stockpile… No caffeine either, yeah?” She resisted the urge to glance down at Quinn’s belly at the last query – goodness knew she’d had enough people eyeballing it since she’d made the announcement – and busied herself instead with the kettle, tapping it twice with her wand to heat it. Opening one of the cabinets, she reached into one of the back corners and withdrew a small wooden box stuffed with assorted tea bags and packages of loose-leaf tea, placing it on the table in front of Quinn.
“Here, have a look through this.”

For herself, she selected a simple English Breakfast and retrieved two of the mugs she kept on-site just as the kettle began to whistle and billow steam from its spout.

“Do you, erm… You don’t know anything about—”
“Do I know anything about…?” The brunette raised an eyebrow again, mouth curving in a small smile to mirror Quinn’s own. “Why you’re here?” she continued, after a pause. She didn’t know for certain, of course, but given the timing of events it was a solid guess. Emma surmised that few other things would bring a heavily-pregnant Quidditch star storming into the office.
“Aside from the obvious reason of wanting to visit me” – Emma grinned, hoping to lighten the mood at least marginally – “…I heard just this morning.”

Emma arranged her expression into what she hoped was the appropriate degree of sympathy. Personally, she was the tiniest bit relieved that the League interceded when it had – what if she was hit in just the wrong spot with a Bludger, or went into labor in the middle of a match?! – but she also knew how important Quidditch was to Quinn, and could only imagine how this was affecting the life she’d made for herself. Additionally, though while Emma didn’t pretend to know the other woman more than superficially, under her ‘Irish temper’ she believed Quinn to be a reasonable person who would – with a bit of time and some grumbling – concede the importance of such measures because she valued her future child’s well-being more than her career. Having a baby never ruined anyone’s career, after all.
Right?

She chose not to comment on any of those thought processes, however, in favor of forgoing redundancy and any perception of patronization. Best to hear exactly how much Quinn knew before disclosing anything, regardless.
“How are things, otherwise?”
She was fully prepared for Quinn to brush off her question and go after the primary reason for why she was there, but nonetheless Emma was genuinely interested in hearing her answer.

Quinn gave Gardner’s still-closed door a final, wistful glance over her shoulder as she followed her friend in the other direction, one hand still resting on her belly. She followed almost reluctantly, sighing both from frustration and from her altered weight distribution as she took a seat at a table farthest from the door to the breakroom. “No caffeine,” she confirmed with another sigh, folding her hands together and resting them in front of her her, perched perfectly on her belly.

She wouldn’t mind if Emma asked about the baby, would probably have no issue telling her how wonderful an experience it was, even with her new imposed quidditch hiatus. Still, the smallest part of her couldn’t help but be thankful. She glanced around the room as the other woman started on the tea, sizing up the various informational posters and motivational photos on the walls -- the “We all win when we work together” poster eliciting a soft snort from the Seeker.

“Ooh.” Quinn perked up at the sight of so many tea options. She picked out a ginger one -- it wasn’t what she wanted, but it seemed her best option -- and set it out on the table in front of her, resuming her belly-holding position as she leaned back in her chair.

Quinn smirked. “Aside from the obvious, of course.” She had almost forgotten that she had a reason to be visiting Emma, far too focused on the man she actually wanted to be seeing. But she sighed, her expression falling to one of concentration instead. Emma had only heard about it this morning. “Me too.” She replayed the events of her post-training again, trying to pinpoint just when the League had decided to hate her. Probably right after she had brought the Falcons back from the bottom of the standings to winning the Championship. Those in charge were made up of perilously-injured players and those who couldn’t make it in the first place. They were jealous; that much was clear. Emma was the exception, of course.

She was waiting for Emma to offer anything, anything at all -- she probably had to write all of Gardner’s correspondence anyway, right? -- but she either didn’t have anything or was too far under the Department’s influence. How were things otherwise? What was there besides quidditch? Quinn sighed, unwrapping her tea bag and dunking it into the mug of water, watching the color spread as it seeped.

“Well, Ireland’s out of the Cup, and the Falcons will fall to the bottom of the League--” she heavily implied that it would happen solely because she wouldn’t be flying, “--and now I can’t even play for charity.” She had been pulled from the lineup that she had so selflessly volunteered for. “I’ve had to steel myself to beg for some leniency on this new ‘rule’ because otherwise I’ll just be sitting around doing what? Picking out paint samples?” She stopped to sigh and to rest her hands, which she had been using to emphasize her speech. “Failing that, it’d be nice if the restriction stretched to the father as well, considering he’s half to blame for the whole thing.” She brought up Oliver without naming him, fully expecting Emma to know who she was referring to.

She took a small sip of her tea as she shrugged. “So everything is just wonderful on my end,” she said, suppressing a laugh. “How about you?”

The brunette sighed internally – she should have predicted the pattern of Quinn’s response. Emma shook her head slightly as she retrieved the kettle and poured the boiling water for each of them before settling into the chair opposite the Falmouth Seeker.

“Y’know, I was asking about the less-than-one-percent of your life that doesn’t involve Quidditch,” Emma teased, raising an eyebrow pointedly. Even so, she could hardly blame her friend for hyperfocusing on it – never mind that the Quidditch tunnel-vision was, in fact, Quinn’s usual habit. Emma couldn’t easily imagine if the tables were turned, if she herself recently found out that she was pregnant; and she with a desk job, let alone a Professional Quidditch player with significant physical demands to keep up with.

Emma hesitated. She wanted to offer sympathy; but at the same time, she was loath to cast a shadow on the situation that might further Quinn’s more negative feelings. Could she and Oliver have taken more precautions? Possibly. But it was done, now, and all that was left was to focus on the positives. The baby would be here in a few short weeks, and it wasn’t like Quinn couldn’t fly ever again just because she’d given birth.

She’d felt her friend’s eyes on her, expectant. Emma half-shrugged. She spoke the truth – even though she was Gardner’s Junior Assistant, she wasn’t privy to everything that went on in the League. Perhaps it was because he knew she and Quinn had developed a friendship over the months through interviews and correspondence; perhaps he had hoped to keep it as under-wraps as possible and thus limit it to the higher-ups so Quinn would have less time to interfere. Whatever the reason, she hadn’t found out until just this morning.

When Quinn turned the question back on her, the Slytherin alumna waved a hand dismissively.
“Eh… same old, same old, really,” she replied with a flash of teeth. “My friend Tracey keeps trying to convince me to skip out on work to gallivant all over the world with her when she goes on her work trips, but the timing never quite seems to work out.” Emma shrugged, letting her shoulders slump back uncontrolled. “Maybe one of these days.”

She raised her still-steaming mug to her lips, hedging on whether or not to attempt a sip. A burnt tongue or roof-of-mouth was an annoying feeling – not worth it. Instead she curled her fingers around the mug, a pleasant shiver running down her spine as the porcelain seeped warmth into her fingers.
“Speaking of worldly travels… what’s your favorite place you’ve been?”

Emma normally avoided mindless small-talk, but she was curious to hear if Quinn’s and Tracey’s opinions were at all similar on any mutual places they had respectively visited.

Plus, of course, she needed to stall for time.

“Less than a percent of a percent,” Quinn corrected her, not knowing if the math really checked out but assuming it did anyway. There really wasn’t much about her life that didn’t involve quidditch -- Alex, maybe, but even he put up with her obsession to placate her -- and she wasn’t about to let her baby affect that. That only meant that her child would be involved in quidditch, not that she’d love the sport any more than her, she internally clarified in case there were any reporters with secret legilimency abilities in the vicinity.

Quinn was, for once, happy to talk about someone that wasn’t herself. She sipped at her tea as Emma spilled hers, and she offered a bit of a smile as she watched her shrug. “You should make it work,” she said with a shrug of her own, both hands wrapped around her cup. “While you still can.” Quinn didn’t have the ability to not make the conversation about herself, it seemed. She moved one hand to rest on her belly without really thinking about the movement.

Thankfully Emma knew better than Quinn who she really enjoyed talking about. “Well, I lived in Portugal for a while,” she nodded, assuming the other woman was familiar with her professional career and her previous seeking with Braga Broomfleet. “And I would spend a month in Spain every summer,” she continued, moving her hand back to her cup. “My mother’s from Madrid,” she clarified, knowing she looked much more Irish and lacked that obvious Mediterranean look that her siblings seemed to be blessed with.

“But I think I like Australia the most.” She had only ever been to Melbourne, or out on the water, but considering that it was summer each time she escaped from winter here… that certainly helped make it a favorite. Of course, she hadn’t been back after meeting Oliver, and she wasn’t about to get into the details of that with Emma -- those rendezvous rumors were never confirmed, after all -- but that didn’t mean she had to stop talking about it. “Most other places I’ve visited have been on a more quidditch-only kind of basis, so if you’ve got a question about favorite pitches…” She trailed off with a shrug of one shoulder, doing her best to not regret missing out on any further visits to Melbourne during this damn weather. They probably would have let her keep flying.

She propper her elbow up on her belly and rested her chin in her hand, unable to reach the table and do this there. “What about you? I hope you get out of England from time to time.” She didn’t pay her statement too much mind, even though she was well aware Emma was English; if anything, that made it a more dire requirement to get out. “At the very least, getting out of London, I hope.” She glanced over Emma’s shoulder as she caught a bit of movement, but it was just someone walking past the break room, not Gardner coming in to offer her the sincerest of apologies.

The almost-scalding warmth of her mug was starting to make her fingers tingle; she flexed them absently as Quinn ticked off a few countries.

“Mmm, I’ve never been to Australia. Any of those three, really,” she grinned, “but especially not Down Under. Did you see any of those massive bird-eating spiders?” The brunette shuddered at the thought of their nearly foot-long leg-span. “I think I’d have a heart attack.”

Emma laughed. “Of course, I’m always game to hear about the best Pitches. Hopefully Gardner lets me in on the Ministry-allocated tickets this year,” she mused dreamily, already feeling the Brazilian sun. Sure, it would be midwinter there in August, but they were much closer to the equator…

“What about you? I hope you get out of England from time to time… At the very least, getting out of London, I hope.”

The Slytherin alumna offered a half-smile and a shrug.
“Not really, no. But it’s in the works – I’ll write Tracey this week and see what’s on her agenda.”

Quinn’s gaze shifted to a point over her right shoulder then; Emma instinctively turned to look, but was too late to catch who it was. Clearly not Gardner, because Quinn was still settled firmly in her seat. Emma nibbled her lip, uncertain how much longer she could keep her friend “distracted” before all hell broke loose. Hopefully the tea and conversation would buy enough time for Quinn’s initial irritation to abate somewhat, at least. If not… well, her boss was going to need a miracle to leave this confrontation unscathed.

Quinn shook her head as she shrugged. “Can’t say I did.” She thought there might be something similar in the Castillo’s zoo, but there were plenty of reasons -- the same as Emma, apparently -- that she had never spent much time around the things that were all creepy crawly. That, and she had spent most of her time there on the water, enjoying the distinctly different season and trying to make the most of it.

“Well if Gardner won’t let you in on any tickets, I’m sure I could.” She shifted, both hands on her belly to ensure that the whole thing shifted with her, too. “They’d be Falcons matches that I won’t be playing in, so maybe I’ll be able to join you in the stands.” Quinn attempted a sweet smile, but a swift kick to her ribs wiped that attempt clear off. She moved one hand to massage out her new sore spot, rolling her eyes as she looked back to Emma. “I guess I could get you United tickets, if you’re that desperate.” She knew she would be able to, considering who she was cohabitating with, but she didn’t think the situation was quite that dire.

She nodded, not asking after Tracey or what the possible plans could be. She needed to reserve all these extra niceties for her meeting with Gardner, should that ever actually occur. Quinn took a sip of her tea; it was just enough to remind her that she needed to use the toilet. It had been nearly thirty minutes since her last trip so she was right on schedule.

“Would you,” Quinn paused, torn between asking Emma to interrupt Gardner’s meeting and simply insisting she do. But there was a third option apparently, which she only realized as she finished her question: “Would you just make sure that he knows I was here.” She moved to stand; it took solid effort to lift herself out of the chair but she managed. “As I don’t have a very busy schedule now, I can show up tomorrow.” She nodded, glancing down to adjust her sweater from where it had started riding up. “And the next day.” She looked back at Emma with another nod before heading to the exit of their little break room. “And the next.”

Quinn glanced down the hall to that ridiculous, closed office door and sighed, turning back to Emma one last time. She pursed her lips, on the verge of reassuring her that she would be back, that he would certainly be hearing from her, but she assumed all of that was clear on her face. “Lovely to see you,” she said instead, pulling the younger woman in for a hug before heading off in the direction of the lifts, assuming Emma would be watching to make sure she didn’t change her mind and make a beeline back for that office.

[[ out ]]

At Quinn’s offer of World Cup tickets, Emma’s expression brightened.
“That would be brilliant, thanks!”
This time last year, she’d never have believed that the Seeker for the Falmouth Falcons would be sitting across from her in the office breakroom, having tea and offering her a means to attend what was quite possibly the biggest entertainment event in the wizarding world. Her star-struck-ness had waned long ago, but moments like this that could bring a fleeting glimpse of it back. It was amazing, really, how much could happen in just a year.

“Would you… Would you just make sure that he knows I was here?”

Emma glanced up from her mug, hastily wiping her puzzled expression. Quinn was leaving without chewing out Gardner? The man had no idea how lucky he was today…
“Of course,” she nodded, drifting after her friend as she made for the break room door. She tilted her head at Quinn’s expression, a small smile on her lips as she caught her glancing down the hall. Before she could tease her to not even think about bum-rushing it Quinn had pulled her into a hug, her very pregnant belly pressing into Emma’s very-not-pregnant one. And in the few seconds that they embraced, she could have sworn she felt an elbow or a knee jut out at her.

“Likewise,” she laughed, releasing her and watching her go. “See you tomorrow, then.”
She winked, waggling her fingers in parting at the older woman as she stepped into the lift; though it was only when the doors closed securely behind her that Emma felt her shoulders truly relax. One would make good use of a third eye just for Quinn Regan…

[[ end! ]]