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Off Duty - Introductions

Deviation Actions

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9

Oyu’baat tapcaf

“And he flipped the speeder? Just smashed into the side of it?”

Jay nodded. “It wasn’t the most fun I’ve had working with D.”

Her companion, a Mandalorian woman by the name of Wad’e Rangir, shook her head as she sat back in her seat. A serving droid buzzed over to take their leftover dishes from lunch, then swiftly retreated back toward the kitchens. “And you’re sure he’s all right? The cyborg? He could still be getting signals from Caranthyr. Tech is sneaky that way.”

Jay shook her head. “He’s good. He’s had his cannon powered down for a good month, just in case. He’s anxious to get back to bounty hunting, but he wants to make up for what he did.”

“I’ve seen the local news reports,” Wad’e said. “He makes a good cam show, helping construction crews rebuild, hoisting up half-ton support girders like they were armfuls of firewood. Impressive, but that doesn’t make him trustworthy.”

Jay shrugged. “Caranthyr’s in the wind. He hasn’t been seen for going on two months. I think it’s safe to assume his little coup is officially over. I don’t think D’harhan is a risk anymore.”

“For all our sakes, I hope you’re right,” Wad’e said. “If your big guy goes on the fritz again, I’m not sure we have enough firepower to take him down. I don’t think anything short of an orbital shot from the Hodayc will stop him.”

“I don’t think the Protectors are going to loan out their flagship to bombard their own home.”

Rangir shrugged. “It’s not out of the question. Protectors are authorized to do whatever is necessary to bring their targets down, whether it’s on alien worlds or home turf.”

Jay shuddered at the thought. “Don’t give me that image. Keldabe’s supposed to be a peaceful place, remember? Caranthyr’s bombings tore this city apart enough already.”

“All right. Just don’t be surprised when your big reptilian friend starts acting all twitchy again.” Wad’e glanced to the door and heaved a sigh. “I think it’s time I was going. It was good seeing you again, Jay. Take care of yourself.”

“You too, Wad’e,” Jay replied. “I’ll see you later.”

The woman stood from her seat and retrieved her bucket from the floor next to their table. She secured it back over her head and nodded respectfully before she turned and left the tapcaf. Jay remained in her seat, staring out the window at the city outside. Things had returned to normal surprisingly quickly after the bombings. It wasn’t even a Market Day and there were still people crowding the plaza outside.

Under normal circumstances, the sight would be an inspiring one. Mandalorians all across the city had banded together, volunteering their time and money to help rebuild what Caranthyr and his neo-Death Watch soldiers had destroyed. It had taken time, but the damage was slowly beginning to fade from Keldabe’s streets. The repairs were patchwork and shoddy, but they blended in with the city’s natural look almost perfectly.

She smiled and shook her head slightly. The camaraderie that the Mandalorians showed in healing their wounded city was inspiring, even to an aruetii like her. If only more people acted in such a way, working together to rebuild.

She had to remind herself that while their current behavior was admirable, the Mandalorians had also given rise to Caranthyr and his men. Despite Shysa’s claims to the contrary, the Death Watch were Mandalorians. The fact they wore different armor and fought for different reasons wasn’t enough. They had the same upbringing, the same training, and the same methods. The Death Watch were Mandalorians with their sights turned against their own kind, rather than outward against aruetiise.

Maybe that was why most normal Mandos hated them so much.

Someone cleared their throat next to her table and she looked over to find the bartender, Aramis, waiting intently. He raised an eyebrow and growled, “Gonna pay for lunch? Or is it going on the tab?”

“I didn’t know you gave credit to aruetiise,” she said with a smile.

He snorted. “Aruetiise? No. Not a chance. But you’re not aruetii, Moqena. Not anymore. You’re mandokarla. Wouldn’t be sporting the Jaig eyes otherwise.”

She shook her head. “I’m not wearing the Jaig, Aramis. Not until Shysa presents them to me.”

“Are you kidding? He said you deserve ‘em, so you got ‘em. Don’t need Shysa to hand ‘em to you to make it official.”

Jay sighed. “I guess.”

“Every recipient gets their own design, you know. Unless you’re boring and just opt for the traditional swoops. You might end up liking them.”

She nodded. “I’ve seen the designs. I like them, I really do. They’re like… two birds swooping in for the kill.”

“And that kind of thing revs your engine, then?”

She laughed. “My call sign back during my days as a pilot was Phoenix. So yeah. That revs my engine.”

“Poetic justice, I guess,” Aramis said with a shrug. “It suits you, Moqena.”

“Thank you, but… I don’t know. It seems like too big an honor for what I did.”

“What you did was save our leader. And you think a pair of swoops to put on your coat is too much?”

“No, but…” She shook her head. “I know how important this is to your people, Aramis. And it’s just…”

“Scary,” he supplied. “Havin’ all the big armored bounty hunters respecting you is scary. You’re not used to it.”

She sighed and stared out the window again. “I guess not…”

Eventually, he cleared his throat. “So are you gonna pay? Or put it on the tab?”

“Oh right.” She reached into her jacket pocket and produced a small collection of credit chips. She tossed them to the old bartender, who tipped his head to her in thanks.

“It’s good to have you back in town, Moqena. After what happened up at MandalMotors, I’m sure I’m not the only one who thinks so.”

Before he could turn and leave, she called him back. “Aramis… after the bombings, the news was crawling with reports about Caranthyr and the assassination attempt. What did they say about me?”

“On the rare occasions when you actually made it onto the news,” Aramis said, “they said nothing but polite things, I promise. Keldabe’s impressed with you, Moqena. They didn’t expect an aruetii to fight so hard to defend the Mandalore. As far as their concerned, you’re the only reason we still have a Mandalore.”

“But it wasn’t just me,” she insisted. “What did they say about the others? Cin, for example?”

“Stripes?” Aramis shrugged. “Nothing.”

Nothing? But he and Brianna saved those people…”

“Brianna’s an aruetii who was doing a job. A job she was paid handsomely for, I might add. And Vhetin single-handedly botched up the counteroffensive in the sewers,” Aramis said. “He saved a lot of people. But he also got a lot of people killed. Mandos don’t look kindly on that.”

“So they don’t so much as give them a pat on the back?”

“Vhetin was publicly congratulated for his service in rescuing those hostages.”

“You know what I mean,” Jay said. “It’s almost like everyone thinks he did something wrong during the operation. Like he failed.”

Aramis sighed. “Stripes isn’t the same as he was before he was snatched up by the Imps. And the Mandos in Keldabe know it now.”

She scoffed. “He’s still the same guy.”

“Not to the people around here. Look at it from their perspective; he shows up again after three months during which everyone thinks he’s dead. He’s got some kind of mysterious disease that’s can kill people if he’s not careful. He’s hanging out with cyborgs and Echani and other unsavory company, half of which end up working for Caranthyr – whether they wanted to or not – while that asshole is bombing the city left and right. Then the mission he’s in charge of ends up killing a score of good souls and to top it all off, Caranthyr vanishes into the wind.”

“And they hold that against him?”

He grimaced. “That’s what happens when you choose to live in a society of bounty hunters, then lose a target. He’s got a lot of ground to recover before his vode see him in the same light they used to.”

“And how do they see him now? His vode?”

Aramis grimaced. “He’s… washed up. Weak. Playing at being a hero when he’s not. They don’t trust him anymore, if they ever did. And the shootout in the sewers only reinforced that.”

“And what do you think?” Jay said, her face drawing down in a scowl. “Do you think he’s dangerous? Weak?”

“I know Stripes. He’s a good man. If he even is a man under all that armor. He lives for this city and I know he’ll do whatever it takes to keep it safe. There are a lot of Mandos around here who can claim the same, and to me that makes Vhetin… I dunno, just one of the boys.”

He sighed, narrowing his eyes. “But… I think he’s pushing himself too far. Trying to be something he’s not. And it seems to be getting himself and a lot of other people hurt in the process. So, is he weak? No. Is he dangerous?”

The grizzled bartender tipped his head. “That one’s harder to answer.”

He hesitated, then turned away. “Thanks for the chips. Stay safe out there, Moqena.”

“I plan to.” She sighed and rested her arms on the tabletop, watching him head back to the bar. Then continued staring out the window, ruminating over what he had said.

So, Vhetin’s fellows were slowly turning against him. Not surprising, considering recent events, but she couldn’t pretend it wasn’t upsetting. After his accident, he’d devoted everything he had to serving the Mandalorians. He wouldn’t be happy to see that devotion thrown back in his face. He had tried his best, even in the sewers. He couldn’t have known Caranthyr would have used suicide bombers, couldn’t have known so many people would lose their lives.

There are going to be situations, he used to tell her during training, where things happen that you don’t see coming. You can’t anticipate these situations, can’t plan or expect what’s going to happen. All you can do is react as quickly as possible and try to minimize the damage.

And Vhetin had done just that. He’d reacted as quickly as he could, pulling back the majority of the troops under his command and holding the rally point for as long as he could. He had minimized the damage as best he could, and saved several lives in the process. Caranthyr had killed those men, not Vhetin.

But had it all been enough? Apparently not to his fellow Mandalorians. She had always known they were strict, but she had no idea just how severe their ideas of serving Mandalore truly were. Vhetin wasn’t the kind to care about public laurels or awards, but was a simple acknowledgement of his sacrifices too much to ask?

She heard footsteps approaching her table and smiled a little. “Did I short you some change, Aramis?”

“Don’t ask me,” came a gravelly woman’s voice. Definitely not Aramis. “But if you’re handing out credits, feel free to pass them over.”

Jay turned to find an athletically-built, middle-aged woman sliding into the seat across from her. She was wearing traditional Mandalorian armor colored orange with yellow highlights and patterns across the smooth armor plating. She had dark brown hair shot through with strands of steel grey, pulled back in a tight braid. Her chiseled square face was lined with equal parts wrinkles and scars.

Jay frowned. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

“I don’t think so,” the woman replied with a friendly smile. “But I know you.”

Jay narrowed her eyes. “Do you now?”

“Oh, don’t be so suspicious. I just meant that I saw you on the news. You’re the aruetii who helped out the enforcement office hunting down that bastard Caranthyr.”

“Yeah… yeah, that was me.”

The woman smiled wider and reached across the table, holding out her hand. “Then I wanna shake your hand, miss. The name’s Isabet Reau.”

“Jay Moqena. Pleased to meet you.” She shook the woman’s hand, then sat back and folded her arms. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“I just want to get to know this up-and-coming hero. Not many of those around here.”

“Evidently,” Jay said. “I hear you Mandos don’t even have a word for hero.”

Isabet Reau chuckled and sat back, folding her hands in her lap and cocking her head to one side. “You got that right. But it’s not every day an aruetii stands out in such a fantastic manner.”

She frowned curiously. “So why did you do it? Why did you fight so hard to defend Shysa?”

Jay shrugged and shook her head. “It wasn’t really a conscious choice. When people are shooting at you, you tend to stick with the familiar guy with the gun rather than the stranger with one.”

Oya to that. But… but why Shysa? Word from the vode who were there says you stuck to him like glue. Why?”

“I don’t know,” Jay said honestly. “He’s important. And Caranthyr wanted him dead. Seemed like the smart thing to do was to stop Caranthyr from getting what he wanted.”

“So no politics involved? No desire for personal glory?”

She shook her head. “Not really my thing. I just wanted to stop the bad guy and save the day. Simple, really.”

“Nothing could be further from simple,” the other woman said, a hint of steel in her voice. “When you threw yourself in with Shysa, Miss Moqena, you threw yourself into a school of sharks. Keldabe may seem like nothing but shits and giggles on a normal day, but it’s far more dangerous than you seem to understand.”

Jay frowned. “What do you mean?”

Reau laughed. “Did you know that the last ten Mand’alor’e we’ve had have all refused the job when it was first offered to them? Shysa even tried installing puppet Mandalores before he finally caved and took the job himself. It’s been described as the single worst job a Mandalorian could accept.”

The woman tapped a finger against the tabletop. “The position of Mandalore is not a position of power. You don’t command legions or vaults of riches. The best he can do is suggest actions to the Council of Clans and hope they decide what to do. That is the most power he commands.

“The position of Mand’alor is a very important job,” Reau continued. “But it’s one that commands less power – and far less respect – than any aruetii can imagine. Shysa’s contribution to this city is a very simple one: he’s a scapegoat. Nothing more.”

Jay frowned. “So why did he even accept?”

“Because the Mandalorians need scapegoats. We have warriors, tacticians, builders, bounty hunters, and all the rest. But too many like-minded warriors in one place get themselves into trouble. And when that happens, they need a single figure to rally behind, to lay all the blame upon, so they can feel better and continue doing what they do best.”

“I don’t understand.”

The woman narrowed her eyes. “Mandalore the Ultimate was a renowned warrior, and arguably the most famous leader we’ve had to date. But you really think his plans for galactic domination were his alone? No. His people wanted to expand. His people wanted to conquer. But his people couldn’t find the strength to organize themselves, so they needed someone to do it for them, someone to be the boogeyman to the outside world that they could never be. And as soon as that happened, all the reports were suddenly saying Mandalore the Ultimate is conquering worlds. Mandalore the Ultimate is slaughtering innocents.”

She smiled. “And the soldiers? They. Just. Keep. Working. Away. Why question the morals of what you’re doing when it’s all your leader’s idea? Why take responsibility for yourself when you’ve got someone in power who takes it all for you? Or at least that’s what they tell themselves. Like dumb banthas in a herd, choosing to run off the side of a cliff then blaming the biggest one for taking the first jump.”

She leaned back. “That’s Shysa’s position. To take the blame when Mandalorians get a little too trigger-happy offworld. To take responsibility when we’re forced to make unfair treaties and alliances with an Empire that wants to grind us under its heel. So you can understand why I’m finding it a little hard to understand why you were fighting to protect the Grand Scapegoat. Even if your reasoning is, just ‘cause.

“I… I didn’t know,” Jay said with a frown. “I thought Shysa was… I don’t know, more important than that.”

“Oh, he and his lackeys will probably spin a different story,” Reau said. “But I’ve lived here for a very long time. I’ve seen three different Mand’alor’e in my time here and I know how things work.

“As a scapegoat,” she said, “Shysa is a target for every thug with a gun who has a score to settle against the people at large. Removing him does no damage to the Mandalorians and their ways, but sends a clear message that they’re unhappy with the way things are. That’s what Caranthyr was planning. A political assassination without any of the blowback. Simple. Easy.”

Jay listened intently, narrowing her eyes as Reau continued, “Caranthyr was just that kind of thug. And you stood in his way. In that moment, you drew a line in the sand and showed everyone in Keldabe where you stand. And in doing so, you made yourself a target for all the rest of the thugs out there who think the way Caranthyr did.”

She pointed a finger at Jay’s face, aiming it right at between her eyes. “Now they’ll all be sighting in on that pretty little head of yours, just waiting to make an example of you. So when I said you were swimming with sharks, I meant it.”

Jay frowned. “That sounds like a threat.”

“Call it an observation,” Reau replied. “I don’t need to threaten someone who’s already in danger.”

The bell over the Oyu’baat’s door rang and Reau glanced over her shoulder. Jay likewise looked to find the newcomer and saw Janada Bralor, dressed in her oilstained MandalMotors coveralls, stepping through the door. Jay waved at her and the engineer started making her way to their table. When her eyes fell on Reau, however, her eyes widened and her face drained of all color.

She approached their table slowly, hands clenched into fists. “Jay. Nice to see you.”

She looked over at the yellow-armored woman with a swiftly-growing scowl.  “It’s so nice of you to slum it out with the rest of us normal folk, Clanmaster Reau. Or is it Vizsla? I can never remember.”

Clanmaster?” Jay echoed. She stared at the older woman. “You’re the head of a clan?”

“The Reau-Vizsla,” the woman said. “Yes. Does that surprise you? We’re allowed to walk the streets on our own like everyone else, you know.”

“I just-“

“I think you should leave,” Janada interrupted. “Now.”

“But I was having such a nice conversation with Miss Moqena here. I think I’ll stay.”

No. You’ll leave. Now.”

“Janada-“

The woman raised a single finger in warning. “All due respect, Jay, but shut up.”

She bent over, putting herself almost nose-to-nose with Reau. “You are going to stand up and walk out of this bar. Right now.”

Reau smirked, but slowly stood from her chair, never once breaking eye contact with the shorter woman. “And if I don’t? If I decide to stay right here and keep talking with my friend, what are you going to do, Umaan?”

“That’s not my name any more,” Janada snarled, still only inches away from Reau. “And she is not your friend. Get out. Now!”

The shout drew gazes from all over the tapcaf, and all the gentle conversation grew suddenly silent. Jay could hear shifting armor plating and clinking mugs as people shifted to watch what was going on. She glanced between the two women, hands unknowingly clenched into fists in her lap.

Reau smiled wider and cocked her head. “You think you’re some big-shot, Janada? Someone important? You’re not. You’re a whiny little bitch who covers up her childish tears by pretending to be strong. You hide behind your loyalty to your people, hoping that if it comes to it they’ll take a blaster bolt for you. Just like your parents did.”

Janada moved before Jay could stop her. In an instant her fist flashed up and there was a sickening crack that sent Reau’s head reeling. There were a few muffled gasps from around the tapcaf, but no one moved to intervene, all eyes fixed on Reau and her reaction to the punch.

When the older woman straightened, blood was pouring from her nose. But instead of striking back, she just wiped the blood away and stared down at it. Then she let out a short chuckle and looked back up.

“Little Jan Umaan,” she laughed. “Whipping out your fists whenever things don’t go your way.”

She leaned close and hissed, “Do us all a favor? Grow up.”

Janada narrowed her eyes, but slowly stepped away. “Get out, Reau.”

Reau bowed her head with another smug smile, her heavy bootsteps echoing through the entire cantina as she stepped past the shorter woman. “I’ll give my regards to your aunt the next time I see her. You can be sure Rav will hear of this.”

“Make sure you don’t leave out the part where I broke your fucking nose!” Janada called after the woman as she stepped through the front door. The silence in the tapcaf was momentarily shattered as the door slammed shut behind her, shaking the bell over the doorframe.

After Reau disappeared outside, the gentle murmur of conversation slowly returned. People turned back to their food and drinks and Aramis returned to washing dishes. Janada, meanwhile, whirled back to Jay and hissed, “What the hell are you playing at?”

“What are you talking about?”

What are you talking about?” Janada scornfully echoed. She threw herself into the chair Reau had just deserted and slammed her fist against the table. “Do you have any idea who that bitch was? What she represents?”

“I have no idea,” Jay said with a frown. “I’m guessing something bad.”

“The worst. That’s Isabet Reau, clanmaster of the Reau-Vizsla. The Vizsla, Jay. Does that mean anything to you?”

“The name sounds familiar, but I don’t-“

“Forty years ago,” Janada snapped, “a renegade Mandalorian clanmaster defies the control of Mand’alor Jaster Mereel. He gathers all his like-minded followers and raises an army to wipe the galaxy clean of Mereel’s followers. The Mandalorian Civil War. One of the bloodiest conflicts our people have ever seen. And you wanna know the name of that clanmaster? Tor Vizsla. You wanna know who he led? The kriffing Kyr’tsad.”

“The Death Watch?” Jay said, instinctively lowering her voice. She knew how sensitive Mandalorians were on the subject.

“Exactly,” Janada hissed. “The woman you were having a nice chat with? His granddaughter-in-law. And she’s heir to the family business.”

“You can’t know that.”

“No,” Janada said. “But I don’t give a damn. She’s a kriffing Vizsla. And that means someday, I’m going to put a blaster bolt between her eyes.”

“Why?” Jay said.

“Never mind why. Just-“

“No,” Jay interrupted. “If you’re reacting like this, I think I deserve to know. Why do you hate them so much? What did they ever do to you?”

“I don’t like… I haven’t…”

Janada fell silent, staring at the tabletop. After a few moments she murmured, “You heard her call me Umaan? That was my original name. Bralor was just something I picked up when I was adopted into the new clan. Janada Naya Umaan. My family was based out of Sriluur, a planet far away from here.”

She sighed. “But when the Clone Wars broke out, my clan got the call. Organize, arm yourselves, and head off to fight for the Confederacy of Independent Systems.”

“The Separatists? Your family fought for the Separatists?”

“The CIS was an army,” Janada murmured. “One of many. We Mandos were all over the Clone Wars. The Umaans fought for the Confederacy, the Skiratas fought for the Republic, the Bralors couldn’t make up their damn minds, and the Shysas sat here on Mandalore twiddling their thumbs.”

She shook her head. “My clan left Sriluur to go fight the battles the CIS couldn’t handle with their army of tin men. And my parents… they left me, with my baby sister. Can’t have kids running around a military operation, right?”

“Janada, that’s awful.”

“That’s Mandalorian parenting. I was ten years old.”

Ten?”

“I’d been training under Mandalorian custom since I was four,” Janada said. “I could already fight better than most adults. I understood why my parents had to leave. I could handle it. I was proud that they thought I was responsible enough to take care of us myself. And my sister needed me.”

“But-“

“My parents loved us,” Janada said. “And it was only because they loved us that they left us. They couldn’t take us to war with them and they didn’t trust any of the native Weequay to place nice with their kids. So they left me in charge. Better to have a Mandalorian – even a young one – in charge of the family holdings.”

“So… how do the Vizsla factor into this?”

Janada clenched her hands together on the tabletop. “A few months into the Clone Wars, my parents – my Clan – were deployed on Mimban. Entrenched Republic troops, native resistance, all stuck in the middle of a boggy jungle... It was a nightmare, from what I’ve been able to gather. And after months of fighting, the CIS didn’t think the Umaans could get the job done. So they hired the Vizsla to support them. And…”

She shook her head. “Apparently the Vizsla were underwhelmed with the way my clan had dealt with the Mimban battle. They wanted to be in control. So they led my clan into an ambush. They were surrounded by clone troops, pinned down by enemy fire. And the Vizsla left them there.”

She snapped her fingers. “My entire clan. Gone. The clone troopers were… efficient. And the Vizsla used the distraction to rip out the Republic troops and send them running with their tails between their legs. A calculated sacrifice, they called it. Like my family was a piece on a kriffing dejarik board.”

She reached up and undid the top two buttons of her MandalMotors uniform, pulling a thin chain necklace from under her collar. Dangling from the end were two thin rectangles of with red, blinking lights. She held them out to Jay, shaking them for emphasis. “You know what these are?”

Jay swallowed nervously, then nodded. “Armor tabs. Mandalorians keep them to… to remember fallen comrades.”

“Or family. They were all that I got back from my parents after they were killed.”

She gestured over her shoulder, to the door Reau had just left through. “That woman, and members of her clan, murdered my family. And they never even got a stern word because of it. Because it was a calculated sacrifice. The Umaans were just soldiers, doing their jobs.”

She shook her head, tucking her necklace out of sight again. “Mandalorians aren’t just soldiers. The Umaans weren’t just soldiers. They were fathers and mothers and brothers and sisters. Farmers and artists and… and…”

She sighed and glared up at Jay. “That woman is dangerous, Jay. Her and all her kin. So you stay away from her or I’m sure you’ll end up just like my family. And… and I don’t want to see that happen.”

Jay nodded. “Okay. Okay, I won’t talk to her again. It wasn’t like I was all that interested in talking to her in the first place. I didn’t even know who she was until you came in.”

“Well now you know. So stay away from her.”

“I will.”

“Good.” Janada heaved a sigh of relief. She flattened her hands against the tabletop and took a long, deep breath. Then she cursed and said, “After all that, I need a kriffing drink.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Aramis! Get me a mug of your worst stuff. Something that burns on the way down.”

The old barkeep chuckled. “After you clocked Reau like that? Hell, I’ll get you two.”

I think with this chapter, the post-Contention installments of Off Duty are finished! The official start of Isolation will begin a few months after this chapter, but the stage is pretty much set for the next adventure. :D

And I finally managed to post this at a time earlier than two in the morning! Go me!
© 2015 - 2024 Vhetin1138
Comments13
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zang-zip's avatar
Great stuff!  I just stumbled onto this chapter after doing a search for Isabet Reau and it was an awesome read.  I really love the angle that you're taking for your writing; grounding things in the old canon and filling in all kinds of blanks.  Janada's backstory about her clan getting wiped out in the Clone Wars was very interesting.  Great work at coming up with solid ideas on which Mandos ended up fighting for the CIS.

I also really liked the way you portrayed Reau.  I recently wrote her into a short story about the cuy'val dar, and I was stoked to see how similar our takes on her were.  She and Priest are both psychotic creeps, but Isabet in particular is just so damn crazy.  Such a fun character to work with.

Keep up the good work!