Catch Me If You Can - Part 8
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
-----Day 8-----
“Bert, I finished off this roll of film,” a soft, melodic, Jersey-accented angel’s voice spoke.
Wait. His eyes flew open. Jersey-accented?
He sat up and looked across the room to where Gerard was sitting on the edge of his bed, blankets tucked around him. He was holding the camera that Bert had fallen asleep with. He looked at him funny.
“I took some photos of the room, of the outside, of the whole site and of the big wigwam.”
Bert nodded sleepily. “What time is it?” he asked with a yawn.
“11 o’clock.”
“Shit. We should get going.”
“Yeah... There’s a coffee machine in the guest registration centre, y’know?”
Bert was gone before Gerard could even begin to giggle.
----
It was during lunch - well, breakfast - that Bert first noticed it. They were eating while they waited for the two cameras of photos they were getting developed to finish getting developed. Gerard, although he hadn’t eaten since the previous day’s picnic, was eating very slowly and really only picking at it. He was leaning heavily on his hand and only half-heartedly contributing to the conversation, which made it pretty dull as there was only the two of them.
Bert exhaled noisily. Gerard looked up at him.
“What’s wrong?” Gerard asked.
“What’s wrong with you is the better question,” Bert said almost aggressively.
“Nothing.” The younger man raised an eyebrow at him. Gerard sighed. “I’m just tired.”
“Still?”
“Yeah,” he chuckled mirthlessly.
“Are you regretting this?”
Gerard actually dropped his fork at that. “What?”
“Are you regretting this?”
“No, Bert, no, I’m not. I’ve told you that....unless... are you?”
“No, not at all. You just seem a bit off today is all.”
“I’m just tired, Bert. I promise you. That’s all.”
Bert stared at him for a moment and could see the lie in his eyes. He nodded reluctantly, pretending he believed him.
----
Gerard was staring at the photo Bert had taken of him at Lafayette Park while he’d still been asleep, almost like he couldn’t believe how beautiful he looked.
“Hey, Bert?”
“Yeah?”
“We should send some of the doubles to our families. So they can see we’re okay....”
“Yeah.”
And for only the second time that day, Gerard smiled.
----
“Gerard, are you sure you should be driving?”
“Bert, since when did you have such little faith in me?”
“It’s just, you said you were tired. You shouldn’t be driving if you’re tired.”
Gerard merely picked up his cup of coffee from the cup holder and shook it lightly at Bert before taking a large gulp of it and pulling onto the I-65 North.
Bert frowned.
“What?”
“Something’s wrong with you.”
“Bert, you said it yourself. I’m tired. I’ll be fine though.”
“Okay, sure, Gerard. Whatever.”
He could see Gerard’s hurt expression from the corner of his eye.
----
“Hey, dude?”
“What?” Gerard asked snippily.
“You’re never gonna believe this...” Bert was bouncing slightly in his seat.
“What am I not gonna believe, Bert?”
“See that line of trees?”
“Yeah....?” Gerard said slowly.
“On the other side of them, is... ready for it? Fort Knox!”
“Bullshit!”
“Nuh, it’s on the map!”
Gerard nodded. “Cool.”
----
They carefully ambled up the hill of the cemetery towards the very distinctive grave. Once they were in front of it, they stopped and read it.
“Harland?!” Gerard half-cried “His name was Harland?!”
Bert blinked in shock at the grave stone. His jaw hung open uselessly for a few moments. “I... didn’t know that....”
“Colonel Harland Sanders....” they muttered in unison, turning to look at each other.
“What a name.... jeez...” Gerard shook his head. “And... Claudia... doesn’t that figure...”
“Huh?”
“I was reading ‘Interview With The Vampire’ before you turned up in Jersey and kidnapped me.”
“Hey,” Bert said, raising his hands defensively “It’s not kidnapping if you go willingly.”
“Bert,” Gerard hissed playfully.
Bert giggled.
They stood there and stared at the bust of Colonel Sanders for several more minutes before Gerard saluted it suddenly. Bert raised an eyebrow at him.
“Thank you, Colonel Sanders, for creating such a fabulous recipe for oily, fatty, unhealthy fried chicken for the lard asses-”
“Gee!”
He sighed. “And super-skinny gymnasts with a metabolism faster than should be possible, to enjoy.”
Bert looked at him, mortified for a moment, then cracked up. Gerard followed suit mere seconds later.
-----Day 9-----
Bert woke up the next morning in his shared bed to find Gerard staring blankly up at the ceiling. He snuffled and scooted over, draping an arm over the older man’s body. He jumped slightly, then looked down and smiled softly at Bert before wrapping his arm around the younger vocalist’s shoulders.
----
Bert woke up again later to find himself alone in the bed. He sat up and looked around for Gerard. He wasn’t in the bedroom. The curtains leading out to the balcony were fluttering. He got up and walked over, pulling the curtains back, expecting to find Gerard having a smoke.
...but no...
He wasn’t out there.
He wandered around the hotel room for several minutes - pausing only long enough to get coffee - before hearing the telltale slosh of water in a bathtub. He stood in front of the door for several seconds, then called out.
“Gerard?” he tried “Gerard are you in there?” He got no response. “Gee?” Nothing. After only a moment’s hesitation, he knocked loudly. He heard water sloshing again, a second of silence, then water. He twisted the doorknob. It was unlocked.“Gee, I’m coming in.... okay?” And just like before, he got no reply. Cautiously, he pushed the door open. He peered around the room, wary of any flying objects that might come his way. He looked over to the bathtub, and sure enough, he could see a stretch of pale skin that made up part of a thigh, a knee and part of a calf, sticking up out of the tub. He crept towards the tub and found a naked, and very unaware, Gerard laying back with his eyes shut and his ears under water.
Gerard’s eyes flicked open at the shadow being cast across his face. Green locked onto blue. There was a scream, then water splashing everywhere and a bar of soap colliding with Bert’s head. He fell backwards onto the floor in shock. He opened his eyes just in time to see a pale hand snatch the towel off the rack and tug it down into the water before a very cross Gerard sat up and glared at him.
“What the fuck?!” Gerard screamed.
“Jesus Christ, Gerard!” Bert yelled, rubbing the spot on his forehead where the soap had struck. “What are you?! Some sort of woman?!”
“What the fuck, Bert?!” Gerard repeated, still clutching the towel over his chest and lap “What the fuck are you doing, just barging in here?”
“My god! Forgive me for wanting to make sure you hadn’t fallen asleep and drowned!”
“Just.... get out.”
Bert stopped and really looked at Gerard. His face was burning red and he looked like he actually might cry. “Gee, are you-?”
“Get out!” Gerard cried.
Bert jumped up and ran out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him. If he didn’t know any better, he’d swear he heard him sobbing.
----
Gerard wandered out of the bathroom and into the lounge room almost 20 minutes later in a set of fresh clothes, still drying his hair. He’d also shaved off what little stubble had grown. He walked over to the couch where Bert was sitting, watching ‘The Simpsons’, and flopped down next to him. The younger man glanced over at him before turning back to the TV.
“Hey, Bert....?” Bert turned to look at him. “I’m sorry.”
Bert shook his head. “No need... I shoulda knocked louder.”
“I shouldn’t have thrown the soap.”
“No, you shouldn’t have, but.... you kinda had the right to... I did kinda barge in on your bath time.”
Gerard only shook his head. He looked up at the younger man and grabbed the sides of his face gently. He then leaned up and gave a light peck to the centre of his forehead. He smiled oh-so slightly at Bert before rising to his feet and gliding away and into the kitchen.
----
They quickly pushed the carefully addressed envelopes into the mailbox before they could chicken out. They giggled at each other and at the mailbox for a few minutes. Then:
“I’m hungry.”
Bert blinked at him for a moment. “Alrighty then.” He then looped his arm around Gerard’s and started walking towards the KFC up the road
“Jesus Christ, Gee...” Bert gasped several minutes later, staring in awe at the sheer amount of chicken the older man was consuming.
“What? I’m fuckin’ hungry,” Gerard replied, slightly muffled by his mouthful of fried chicken. “I didn’t eat yesterday.”
Bert shook his head slowly in awe.
-----Day 10-----
He blinked slowly - slightly - awake at exactly 12:03AM....if the evil, green glowing numbers of the digital clock were anything to go by.
He looked around to try and find the cause. It took several sweeps of the room to find it. It was the moon. Its light was leaking in and onto the bed from the floor length windows. But... why was it getting in? How was it getting in? They’d shut the...
Oh....
He’d known something was wrong with him... but he hadn’t realised how wrong until then... until he saw him silhouetted against the windows, his shoulders shaking slightly.
...Gee...
----
How he fell back to sleep after waking up to that he would never know. All he knew is that when he woke up again, Gerard was back in the bed, on his side, his back to the younger man.
“Gee?” he called as he rolled over, slipping an arm across the other’s waist.
“Yeah?”
“What’s wrong? Really? What’s going on?”
“Nothing...”
“Do you wanna keep going today then? Head up to Indiana?”
“No...” He sounded like he was either crying, or about to cry. “We, um... we need to stay here for a few days.”
“Why?”
“Because... I need the photos and the letter to get to Frank first.”
Bert paused. “Letter?”
“I sent him a letter giving him the address of where we are...”
“What?!” Bert sat upright. “Why?”
“Because...” He paused and sat up, turning to Bert with watery green eyes. “I need him to deliver the prescriptions for my anti-depressants. We left so quick I didn’t have time to grab my pills, or the scripts. I thought I’d be fine... but...” He shrugged helplessly.
Bert almost slapped himself. He’d forgotten.
----
Gerard stubbed out his cigarette and put the butt in the ashtray before lighting up another one and looking back into the lounge room to continue watching the TV. There was a Simpsons marathon on. He was very happy with that.
The Homer-dummy fell into the beaver-infested water just as Gerard’s eyes widened. He jumped up, dropping the still lit cigarette into the ashtray and all but sprinting to the bathroom. He really had to go.
By the time he got back to his cigarette, it had burnt down significantly. He managed to get three good, long draws off it before it reached the filter. He sighed and leaned further back in the chair, relishing in the first real alone time he’d had since Bert had picked him up a week-and-a-half ago.
Speaking of...
Gerard stood and looked over the balcony and down to the street, glancing around for the familiar frame of the slim punk boy. Not seeing him, he plonked back down in his seat and chuckled. Bert certainly had a challenge. He had gone to get food, but there were requirements.
No fried chicken, no greasy chips, no sloppy burgers, no probably-fake cheese.....
That pretty much eliminated all of the restaurants they could see from the hotel balcony... so he probably wouldn’t be back with dinner for a while.
No sooner had he thought that, did the door pop open to reveal Bert with two bags of containers of food and a bag with two large bottles of coke.
“I found a Thai place!” Bert called as he kicked the door shut.
Gerard smiled, stubbing out a cigarette he didn’t quite remember lighting before standing and going to help Bert.
----
Fork pushed against fork as each one tried to spear the last piece of pork.
“I went and got it...”Bert ground out, pushing Gerard’s fork back. “It should... be... mine!”
“No way, McCracken!” Gerard forced Bert’s fork back. “You didn’t even want the pork in plum sauce until I started eating it!”
“Like hell I didn’t, Way! You just snatched it up before I could get it.”
“Bullshit! You were perfectly content with your Pad Krapaw until I picked this up!”
“Nuh uh! I was about to put it down!”
“You were not!”
“I was so!”
“No! You weren’t!”
“Yes! I wa-”
The forks slid off each other and down into something soft in the container.
They looked down.
Both forks were in the final, plum sauce-soaked piece of pork.
“Hmm......” They both frowned.
“I do believe.... we have a draw, Mister Way.”
“Yes... it would seem that we do, Mister McCracken.”
“Then, whatever shall we do, Mister Way.”
“Hmm... well, Mister McCracken, I propose...” They glanced up at each other, still in the mindset of their game. “That we slice this - the final piece of pork - in two!”
“Hmm, yes...”
“Quite...”
Carefully, they both stood and, without looking away from the other, or the piece of meat, they shuffled from the lounge room into the adjoined kitchen with only a few minor collisions with furniture on the way. They set the container down on the bench, still hunched over it and watching the other. Gerard fumbled with his free hand for a knife, keeping hold of his fork with the other, much like Bert. As soon as the final bit of pork was divided, Gerard dropped the knife and they both scoffed their share of the meat.
After a minute, they looked at each other.
“Why didn’t we just do that in the first place?”
They burst into hysterics, collapsing one on top of the other into a messy heap of gasping and giggling limbs.
Part Nine
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
-----Day 8-----
“Bert, I finished off this roll of film,” a soft, melodic, Jersey-accented angel’s voice spoke.
Wait. His eyes flew open. Jersey-accented?
He sat up and looked across the room to where Gerard was sitting on the edge of his bed, blankets tucked around him. He was holding the camera that Bert had fallen asleep with. He looked at him funny.
“I took some photos of the room, of the outside, of the whole site and of the big wigwam.”
Bert nodded sleepily. “What time is it?” he asked with a yawn.
“11 o’clock.”
“Shit. We should get going.”
“Yeah... There’s a coffee machine in the guest registration centre, y’know?”
Bert was gone before Gerard could even begin to giggle.
----
It was during lunch - well, breakfast - that Bert first noticed it. They were eating while they waited for the two cameras of photos they were getting developed to finish getting developed. Gerard, although he hadn’t eaten since the previous day’s picnic, was eating very slowly and really only picking at it. He was leaning heavily on his hand and only half-heartedly contributing to the conversation, which made it pretty dull as there was only the two of them.
Bert exhaled noisily. Gerard looked up at him.
“What’s wrong?” Gerard asked.
“What’s wrong with you is the better question,” Bert said almost aggressively.
“Nothing.” The younger man raised an eyebrow at him. Gerard sighed. “I’m just tired.”
“Still?”
“Yeah,” he chuckled mirthlessly.
“Are you regretting this?”
Gerard actually dropped his fork at that. “What?”
“Are you regretting this?”
“No, Bert, no, I’m not. I’ve told you that....unless... are you?”
“No, not at all. You just seem a bit off today is all.”
“I’m just tired, Bert. I promise you. That’s all.”
Bert stared at him for a moment and could see the lie in his eyes. He nodded reluctantly, pretending he believed him.
----
Gerard was staring at the photo Bert had taken of him at Lafayette Park while he’d still been asleep, almost like he couldn’t believe how beautiful he looked.
“Hey, Bert?”
“Yeah?”
“We should send some of the doubles to our families. So they can see we’re okay....”
“Yeah.”
And for only the second time that day, Gerard smiled.
----
“Gerard, are you sure you should be driving?”
“Bert, since when did you have such little faith in me?”
“It’s just, you said you were tired. You shouldn’t be driving if you’re tired.”
Gerard merely picked up his cup of coffee from the cup holder and shook it lightly at Bert before taking a large gulp of it and pulling onto the I-65 North.
Bert frowned.
“What?”
“Something’s wrong with you.”
“Bert, you said it yourself. I’m tired. I’ll be fine though.”
“Okay, sure, Gerard. Whatever.”
He could see Gerard’s hurt expression from the corner of his eye.
----
“Hey, dude?”
“What?” Gerard asked snippily.
“You’re never gonna believe this...” Bert was bouncing slightly in his seat.
“What am I not gonna believe, Bert?”
“See that line of trees?”
“Yeah....?” Gerard said slowly.
“On the other side of them, is... ready for it? Fort Knox!”
“Bullshit!”
“Nuh, it’s on the map!”
Gerard nodded. “Cool.”
----
They carefully ambled up the hill of the cemetery towards the very distinctive grave. Once they were in front of it, they stopped and read it.
“Harland?!” Gerard half-cried “His name was Harland?!”
Bert blinked in shock at the grave stone. His jaw hung open uselessly for a few moments. “I... didn’t know that....”
“Colonel Harland Sanders....” they muttered in unison, turning to look at each other.
“What a name.... jeez...” Gerard shook his head. “And... Claudia... doesn’t that figure...”
“Huh?”
“I was reading ‘Interview With The Vampire’ before you turned up in Jersey and kidnapped me.”
“Hey,” Bert said, raising his hands defensively “It’s not kidnapping if you go willingly.”
“Bert,” Gerard hissed playfully.
Bert giggled.
They stood there and stared at the bust of Colonel Sanders for several more minutes before Gerard saluted it suddenly. Bert raised an eyebrow at him.
“Thank you, Colonel Sanders, for creating such a fabulous recipe for oily, fatty, unhealthy fried chicken for the lard asses-”
“Gee!”
He sighed. “And super-skinny gymnasts with a metabolism faster than should be possible, to enjoy.”
Bert looked at him, mortified for a moment, then cracked up. Gerard followed suit mere seconds later.
-----Day 9-----
Bert woke up the next morning in his shared bed to find Gerard staring blankly up at the ceiling. He snuffled and scooted over, draping an arm over the older man’s body. He jumped slightly, then looked down and smiled softly at Bert before wrapping his arm around the younger vocalist’s shoulders.
----
Bert woke up again later to find himself alone in the bed. He sat up and looked around for Gerard. He wasn’t in the bedroom. The curtains leading out to the balcony were fluttering. He got up and walked over, pulling the curtains back, expecting to find Gerard having a smoke.
...but no...
He wasn’t out there.
He wandered around the hotel room for several minutes - pausing only long enough to get coffee - before hearing the telltale slosh of water in a bathtub. He stood in front of the door for several seconds, then called out.
“Gerard?” he tried “Gerard are you in there?” He got no response. “Gee?” Nothing. After only a moment’s hesitation, he knocked loudly. He heard water sloshing again, a second of silence, then water. He twisted the doorknob. It was unlocked.“Gee, I’m coming in.... okay?” And just like before, he got no reply. Cautiously, he pushed the door open. He peered around the room, wary of any flying objects that might come his way. He looked over to the bathtub, and sure enough, he could see a stretch of pale skin that made up part of a thigh, a knee and part of a calf, sticking up out of the tub. He crept towards the tub and found a naked, and very unaware, Gerard laying back with his eyes shut and his ears under water.
Gerard’s eyes flicked open at the shadow being cast across his face. Green locked onto blue. There was a scream, then water splashing everywhere and a bar of soap colliding with Bert’s head. He fell backwards onto the floor in shock. He opened his eyes just in time to see a pale hand snatch the towel off the rack and tug it down into the water before a very cross Gerard sat up and glared at him.
“What the fuck?!” Gerard screamed.
“Jesus Christ, Gerard!” Bert yelled, rubbing the spot on his forehead where the soap had struck. “What are you?! Some sort of woman?!”
“What the fuck, Bert?!” Gerard repeated, still clutching the towel over his chest and lap “What the fuck are you doing, just barging in here?”
“My god! Forgive me for wanting to make sure you hadn’t fallen asleep and drowned!”
“Just.... get out.”
Bert stopped and really looked at Gerard. His face was burning red and he looked like he actually might cry. “Gee, are you-?”
“Get out!” Gerard cried.
Bert jumped up and ran out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him. If he didn’t know any better, he’d swear he heard him sobbing.
----
Gerard wandered out of the bathroom and into the lounge room almost 20 minutes later in a set of fresh clothes, still drying his hair. He’d also shaved off what little stubble had grown. He walked over to the couch where Bert was sitting, watching ‘The Simpsons’, and flopped down next to him. The younger man glanced over at him before turning back to the TV.
“Hey, Bert....?” Bert turned to look at him. “I’m sorry.”
Bert shook his head. “No need... I shoulda knocked louder.”
“I shouldn’t have thrown the soap.”
“No, you shouldn’t have, but.... you kinda had the right to... I did kinda barge in on your bath time.”
Gerard only shook his head. He looked up at the younger man and grabbed the sides of his face gently. He then leaned up and gave a light peck to the centre of his forehead. He smiled oh-so slightly at Bert before rising to his feet and gliding away and into the kitchen.
----
They quickly pushed the carefully addressed envelopes into the mailbox before they could chicken out. They giggled at each other and at the mailbox for a few minutes. Then:
“I’m hungry.”
Bert blinked at him for a moment. “Alrighty then.” He then looped his arm around Gerard’s and started walking towards the KFC up the road
“Jesus Christ, Gee...” Bert gasped several minutes later, staring in awe at the sheer amount of chicken the older man was consuming.
“What? I’m fuckin’ hungry,” Gerard replied, slightly muffled by his mouthful of fried chicken. “I didn’t eat yesterday.”
Bert shook his head slowly in awe.
-----Day 10-----
He blinked slowly - slightly - awake at exactly 12:03AM....if the evil, green glowing numbers of the digital clock were anything to go by.
He looked around to try and find the cause. It took several sweeps of the room to find it. It was the moon. Its light was leaking in and onto the bed from the floor length windows. But... why was it getting in? How was it getting in? They’d shut the...
Oh....
He’d known something was wrong with him... but he hadn’t realised how wrong until then... until he saw him silhouetted against the windows, his shoulders shaking slightly.
...Gee...
----
How he fell back to sleep after waking up to that he would never know. All he knew is that when he woke up again, Gerard was back in the bed, on his side, his back to the younger man.
“Gee?” he called as he rolled over, slipping an arm across the other’s waist.
“Yeah?”
“What’s wrong? Really? What’s going on?”
“Nothing...”
“Do you wanna keep going today then? Head up to Indiana?”
“No...” He sounded like he was either crying, or about to cry. “We, um... we need to stay here for a few days.”
“Why?”
“Because... I need the photos and the letter to get to Frank first.”
Bert paused. “Letter?”
“I sent him a letter giving him the address of where we are...”
“What?!” Bert sat upright. “Why?”
“Because...” He paused and sat up, turning to Bert with watery green eyes. “I need him to deliver the prescriptions for my anti-depressants. We left so quick I didn’t have time to grab my pills, or the scripts. I thought I’d be fine... but...” He shrugged helplessly.
Bert almost slapped himself. He’d forgotten.
----
Gerard stubbed out his cigarette and put the butt in the ashtray before lighting up another one and looking back into the lounge room to continue watching the TV. There was a Simpsons marathon on. He was very happy with that.
The Homer-dummy fell into the beaver-infested water just as Gerard’s eyes widened. He jumped up, dropping the still lit cigarette into the ashtray and all but sprinting to the bathroom. He really had to go.
By the time he got back to his cigarette, it had burnt down significantly. He managed to get three good, long draws off it before it reached the filter. He sighed and leaned further back in the chair, relishing in the first real alone time he’d had since Bert had picked him up a week-and-a-half ago.
Speaking of...
Gerard stood and looked over the balcony and down to the street, glancing around for the familiar frame of the slim punk boy. Not seeing him, he plonked back down in his seat and chuckled. Bert certainly had a challenge. He had gone to get food, but there were requirements.
No fried chicken, no greasy chips, no sloppy burgers, no probably-fake cheese.....
That pretty much eliminated all of the restaurants they could see from the hotel balcony... so he probably wouldn’t be back with dinner for a while.
No sooner had he thought that, did the door pop open to reveal Bert with two bags of containers of food and a bag with two large bottles of coke.
“I found a Thai place!” Bert called as he kicked the door shut.
Gerard smiled, stubbing out a cigarette he didn’t quite remember lighting before standing and going to help Bert.
----
Fork pushed against fork as each one tried to spear the last piece of pork.
“I went and got it...”Bert ground out, pushing Gerard’s fork back. “It should... be... mine!”
“No way, McCracken!” Gerard forced Bert’s fork back. “You didn’t even want the pork in plum sauce until I started eating it!”
“Like hell I didn’t, Way! You just snatched it up before I could get it.”
“Bullshit! You were perfectly content with your Pad Krapaw until I picked this up!”
“Nuh uh! I was about to put it down!”
“You were not!”
“I was so!”
“No! You weren’t!”
“Yes! I wa-”
The forks slid off each other and down into something soft in the container.
They looked down.
Both forks were in the final, plum sauce-soaked piece of pork.
“Hmm......” They both frowned.
“I do believe.... we have a draw, Mister Way.”
“Yes... it would seem that we do, Mister McCracken.”
“Then, whatever shall we do, Mister Way.”
“Hmm... well, Mister McCracken, I propose...” They glanced up at each other, still in the mindset of their game. “That we slice this - the final piece of pork - in two!”
“Hmm, yes...”
“Quite...”
Carefully, they both stood and, without looking away from the other, or the piece of meat, they shuffled from the lounge room into the adjoined kitchen with only a few minor collisions with furniture on the way. They set the container down on the bench, still hunched over it and watching the other. Gerard fumbled with his free hand for a knife, keeping hold of his fork with the other, much like Bert. As soon as the final bit of pork was divided, Gerard dropped the knife and they both scoffed their share of the meat.
After a minute, they looked at each other.
“Why didn’t we just do that in the first place?”
They burst into hysterics, collapsing one on top of the other into a messy heap of gasping and giggling limbs.
Part Nine