the studious mage

how sweet

“Who else’s fault would it be?  You’re the one with your nose constantly in a book when you could be spending time with your favorite adorably charming cleric.”  She gives an exaggerated sigh as she rolls her eyes.  “I suppose it falls on me now to make sure you’re presentable.  

He turns and offhandedly remarks about her own flour mess.  Serra immediately attempts to wipe her nose with her hand.  She doesn’t succeed and only ends up making a bigger mess.  “Eeeeeeeeerk!” she whines in a high pitched squeal, “you were going to let me keep walking around like this, weren’t you!  You’re so mean!  I can’t believe I ever even liked you!  You horrible devil!”  Each phrase is punctuated with a very toddler-like stomping of her feet.

Could she really blame him for always burying his nose in a book? There was so much to get from books, and so little to get from talking a lot. Especially when it was... like this. Erk turned back around with an exasperated expression, eyebrows slightly raised.

“Well...” He started slowly, to stop himself from either laughing or shouting back - he couldn’t really tell which he wanted more. “I told you in the end, didn’t I? No use in complaining about what could have happened when it didn’t.” He breathed a light sigh.

how sweet

Oh no. He had absolutely no right to be that cute when he wrinkled his nose like that. It wasn’t fair.

Serra turned her thoughts to a rascally young Erk swiping cakes from a poor baker and she couldn’t help but giggle. It was nice to think of him letting loose a little instead of burried in his studies. She was tempted to press him for more details about his childhood but that would open the door to questions about hers. And well, she was far more glamorous and sophisticated now. There was no need to dwell on the past!

“You’ll just have to make sure it doesn’t burn then, yes?”

Serra noticed the handprint she left on his shoulder and attempted to wipe it off. “Now Erk, you really ought to pay more attention to the state of your clothes. You look like a ragamuffin!”

“Well it would only be as - ah.” He glances at the little puffs of flour on his jacket, frowning slightly. That was unfortunate.

“It’s not my fault I do so much work. There’s hardly time to pay attention to your appearance when you’re focused on your work, you know.” He huffed, attempting to dust himself off. Of course, Erk hardly ever payed attention to how he looked, but it gave him a nice excuse.

how sweet

Serra’s smile was soft as she listened to him speak of his own past. This wasn’t something they’d done often. Their conversations usually ended up as playful and teasing banter. It was rather nice and it almost made her want to open up a bit more about her unglamorous past to the mage. Almost.

“I find it hard to imagine a goody two shoes like you would ever steal sweets!” She laughed as she patted a hand on his shoulder, leaving a floury handprint. “You’d better get back to work. This cake won’t bake itself, you know. I suppose if you do a good enough job with it I might allow a tiny bit of my good luck to rub off on you!”

“Oh, please. Leave any child unattended for any amount of time and they’ll be in a handful of trouble,” he wrinkled his nose at her. Of course she would consider him, as she put it, a ‘goody-two shoes’ and he sort of resented that but he was also here helping her without a question so Erk really didn’t have any room to stand on. 

“Right, right. I am nothing without your merciful grace.” He sighed and worked the batter into a pan. He glanced down at the faded recipe book for a minute before walking over and sliding it into the large brick oven.

how sweet

Serra gives the figure a closer look and feels a little foolish for not having noticed before. Some cleric she was if she couldn’t even recognize her own saint!

Her face lights up and she holds the tiny Saint Elimine just a bit more reverently. “Food was never anything special growing up in the convent. We had to rely on donations and what we could grow ourselves. But every year, for Saint Elimine’s Day, we somehow managed to pull together enough for a cake. All of us children looked forward to it all year. I don’t think I’ve had one since I left. I haven’t even thought about those days in years.”

It is really sweet that Erk brought such a tiny and unassuming piece of home with him all the way here. Serra takes his hand and carefully sets the figure in his palm before closing his fingers around it. “It’s a shame for you. I think we both know I for sure will be the one blessed with saintly luck!”

She’s already lucky, she thinks to herself. Surely it must be luck that keeps her finding her way back to the mage’s side.

As she talks his eyebrows knit slightly. He really couldn’t imagine the sort of hell the people at the convent had put her through. She never talked to him about it much - nor would he ask her to, of course, since recounting difficult experiences was often painful - but he was clever enough to put two and two together. 

“Is that so...? When I lived in Aquleia, bakeries would usually give them to us kids as ‘goodwill’ but I think really they just didn’t want any more sweets stolen.” Anything to avoid looking at the problem directly, he figured. “I hope it’s just as great as you remember, then.”

He looks at his hand quietly for a moment as if thinking before shaking his head with a half of a laugh. “How absurd. Surely, I will be the one lucky enough to find it.” Erk places it carefully in the batter.

» to play with death

She’s losing concentration. She’s too aware of it. Fear crept through the cold night, made even colder by the entity staring right back at her. This is her magic. Her doing…

It’s both Erk’s steady instruction that keeps her together, making her recall that not all those who practice dark magic are not evil that keeps her together. As intimidating as it may appear, as afraid as she may be, more harm will be done if she bails now.

She takes a deep breath, the ocean air filling her lungs. Red eyes stare back at purple, a small tremble in her arms but she continues to move. As she exhales, she closes her eyes, arms extended to the heavens and towards the eyes, as if beckoning it to come closer. The dancer twirls in place, slow at first before she picks up speed once more. The imagery of the eyes remain, and even with her eyes closed she’s sure its piercing stare still remains, the reddish purple only growing brighter and brighter, the darkness surrounding it spreading.

As her twirling reaches its peak, Tethys brings her dance to a close, ending with a graceful bow, both hands touching the tip of the waters as she kneels. 

When she looks up, the eyes burn a bright purple one last time before it disperses, the eyes closing and fading into darkness. It wasn’t the kind of magic she intended to learn and acquire, and yet… here she is.

Out of breath, face pale after the whole ordeal, Tethys turns to Erk and lets out a big sigh of relief. She completely falls to the sand, now sitting on by the shore, the water crashing at her back. It was just one simple attempt, but it exhausted her greatly.

So much for pacing yourself…

“Did you see it, Erk?” She tries to sound positive and enthusiastic, but there’s still a bit of uncertainty laced in there. “I’m not sure what kind of magic that was but… it certainly fascinating.” Fiersome eyes amidst darkness… certainly that leaned more on dark magic. “I just hope I can put it to good use.”

He watches carefully, slightly on edge about it. But she continued, and it wasn’t his place to tell her how to do it. Whatever it was he said that she took to heart Erk wasn’t sure, but Tethys seemed to be stirred by his words, which he appreciated greatly. 

It seemed that once she finished her dance it really did end the spell and he closed his hand, not seeing any need for the aid anymore. Though, the minute she hit the sand he was already halfway to her and he crouched at the shore beside her, offering both an awestruck and inspired look. “Yes, I saw.”

“You’ve outdone yourself. You really made the magic your own.” He thought it may have been a touch concerning that she seemed to be dispossessed to dark magic, but perhaps that wasn’t something for him to dwell on. “Are you alright, though? You seem a little... discoloured in the face there.”

those who wait

The deliberately soft sound of books meeting wooden table is equal parts frightening and heartening as a boy sets his materials down across from Lana, initiating conversation she never would have on her own. Continuing one proves easier, gaze flickering up to be polite, settling on the face of he who has spared her the awkward affair of navigating a room of strangers.

“Not at all” passes through her lips too hurriedly, eager for the company. She forces a quiet laugh after that in hopes he does not think her so desperate.  Once the initial anxiety subsides, his serious face starts to look almost recognizable, perhaps someone she has passed at the academy’s library a handful of times. The search for any topic to engage him on reminds the healer that this encounter has a purpose as does his presence— the seminar. 

Wandering eyes catch on the image of a woman bearing some likeness to Lana’s mother on the cover of his book and stall her from speaking at first. Glancing yields no recollection from her studies, but she is not so foolish to think she has experienced even a fraction of the writings Fodlan has to offer.

“Are you interested in faith? Um, I’m Lana, by the way,” she finally finds the courage to tell him. 

He raises an eyebrow slightly at the near immediate response, but he knew that he was hardly any different so Erk simply gave a nod of thanks and pushes the chair back to beside her, pushing the books closer to where he was sitting. He caught a brief glance of her staring at his book before he glanced away. It was rude to stare.

The question posed takes him a bit by surprise, despite being in a place meant for discussing that very topic. “Lana? I’m Erk, it’s a pleasure.” He spoke with a friendly familiarity, but he was staring out into the distance of the room, contemplating.

“I... wouldn’t say yes, exactly, but rather what makes it so... unique, I suppose the word would be. Like... what is faith? What makes a devout persons abilities different from those who do not believe?” His fingers drum thoughtfully against the desk as he speaks.”Ah - ! I-I wasn’t posing those questions to you, sorry! I was just thinking aloud!”

how sweet

Serra smiles as she watches him work. Why he agreed to do this with her, she has no idea. But she is more than happy he did. She missed him when he left for Fodlan. She missed Hector and Matthew as well but with Erk, it felt different. She leans her elbow on the counter and her hand on her cheek and almost lets out a sigh.

Thankfully, Erk steps back and starts digging through his bag and she snaps back into reality. Serra quickly stands back up straight and turns her attention to the item he produces from his bag. She reaches to grab the figure, cheeks turning pink again when her fingers brush against his. She squints at the figure.

“Erk, I never know what you’re saying.”

“....What goes on in that head of yours, I don’t think I’ll ever know.” He scratches his head as if in disbelief and gives the little figure a thoughtful look. It wasn’t very detailed but it was obviously meant to be Elimine and Erk thought it was very cute.

“You put this in the cake before you bake it. Then, when you eat the cake, whoever finds this in their piece is supposed to be lucky for the rest of the year. Quite silly, I know, but I remember kids really enjoying it. That one is my own, after all.” He shakes his head with a slight laugh. It seemed like a silly game, but Serra was the type to like things like that wasn’t she? Besides, the kitchen staff wanted something culturally interesting to share culinary wise.

how sweet

She stopped. His hand was warm on top of hers and she looked up at him, expression almost soft. Saint help her, she wanted nothing more than to link her fingers with his. Her cheeks grew hot through the top of her ears and she quickly snatched her hand away.

Immediately, Serra regretted it. He wasn’t chiding her or laughing at her. Erk was doing everything he could to fix her mistakes and here she was reacting with hostility. Even if it was his fault for making her like him, she could at least thank him. She quickly rubbed her brow with the back of the hand she pulled away, a lame excuse for her sudden reaction. She didn’t notice the streak of flour left behind.

“Ah y-yes well,” her haughty attitude slowly returned as she regained arrogance. “I suppose you do know how to properly rescue a lady from kitchen mishaps.”

“Of course. It is only natural.” He shook his head and went back to work. She was at least trying, somewhat, to help so Erk knew he couldn’t fault her for that. Even if it was absolutely less than helpful. Sometimes he got a bit frustrated with the blatant disregard for listening, but he was learning to do his best and ignore it. 

“Oh, that’s right.” He steps back after a bit and looks at Serra. He blinks at the streak of flour, trying not to laugh before digging through his bag. After a bit of frowning, he procured a small, porcelain figure of a woman. He seemed proud of finding it, holding it between two fingers for his companion to look at it.

how sweet

That stupid smile. She hated how much she loved it when smiled at her like that. Then he touched her shoulder and she felt herself leaning into it. How one man could be so absolutely aggravating was beyond her. She was a cleric, a holy woman. Surely she didn’t deserve to be tortured like this!

Serra caught herself smiling as she watched Erk cleaning up the egg she dropped without any fuss or complaint. Why’d he have to be so sweet sometimes? She shook her head and angrily started measuring cups of flour to take her mind off of how cute he can be. Frustration kept her from taking her time and puffs of flour escaped the bag with each scoop. Serra was too busy not thinking about Erk that she didn’t notice the growing mess.

He shuffled carefully, watching the egg as if it were going to leap from his hands and run away. When Erk lifted his head, his mouth opened in silent confusion. Ah. “Se - Serra...” He put a hand on top of hers to stop her from continuing to scoop flour. “I think that is enough for now. Unless you enjoy chalk-tasting cake.”

Honestly, what would she do without him looking after her? (Where would he be if not for her? A troubling thought.) He clicked his tongue and waved a puff of flour dust from in front of him. Even if it was cleaned up, he thought that the kitchen staff might get a bit cross with them if they wasted all their flour and did not want to hear it from two sides.

» to play with death

What a sweet young man. 

It might be her bias speaking, but mages were always so sweet and understanding. Even those that stray too far and dive in to magic beyond their control like the Prince of Grado, she was told, was kind and so sweet before… 

…

Now was not the time to think of mishaps when diving into dark magic. Tethys gives Erk a kind smile and a nod before she turns away from him. She steps forward, putting some distance between them as she draws closer to the shore, with her toes lightly tickled by the cold water from the sea. 

There were some records of magic coming from spirits– from nature itself. The waters were calm tonight, and if they so will, would they aid her as well?

A pause, and then she begins. A tune in her head plays, somber as the night air and the low tides, her movement the same. Small ripples form around her as she moves and sways, calling on as much as she can with her movement. If she can revitalize her companions with her dance, can she do more with it? She takes a quick turn, bended over lightly as she sweeps the waters around her with her hand, a circle forming in its wake. Sigil’s start to form, but once more, its different from the first one she ever made. 

A flash of something else, something more appears in front of her again. Closer, this time. The first might have been a fluke, but a second time around, she’s sure she actually sees it. Purple, piercing eyes stare back at her from inside a dark mist. Tethys’ freezes in place, horrified, but not wanting to lose concentration in fear it might reach out from the darkness and do something else. 

“Erk–?! A-are you seeing this?” Her voice cracks, but she doesn’t move from where she’s standing. The reddish purple eyes continue to stare, and all Tethys could do was stare right back.

There was a bit of a breeze as Erk watched Tethys step towards the sea. A message from the spirits perhaps? No, they did not exist within Fodlan’s borders (is that where this even was?) in the same way they did at home. He wondered if she knew about them as well.

When she began his breath caught, almost mesmerized. He could remember Nils’ songs and Ninians’ dances vividly, but she seemed to be invoking something else. It was absolutely fascinating, and he would have to eventually find a way to search up if something similar had ever been done. Surely it must have, as the spark of human curiosity was never-ending.

And then she sees it. He sees it too. The mage’s brows draw together in worry and confusion. His mind whirred into overdrive – if he stood there with a dumbfounded look on his face, she might get more afraid and hurt herself. It was after all…. Her own spell. He could tell that much, though it was a bit outside of his own understanding of expertise. Erk shuffled slowly around to a different position, trying to get a clearer look.

“Tethys…” He sucked in a breath to level his voice; had to stay levelheaded here. “Keep going. Finish your dance. If you cannot finish your spell you will put yourself in continuous danger.” He felt really bad as it sounded like he was ordering her around, but it was quite a dangerous game they were playing. His hands fell behind his back, his own sigil alight in his hand, should he need to rush to her aid – but better to keep it hidden from her right now.

how sweet

Oh Saint help her, it was not fair that he looked so infuriatingly adorable with his nose scrunched up like that at the bottle of vanilla.  Saint Elimine really was testing her, Serra was sure of that.  It was the only explanation that made sense to explain the stupid fluttery feeling in her stomach when she was able to spend time with Erk like this.  

He called her a lady and, even though she knew it was sarcastic, she would take it.  She supposed she could at least procure the eggs from him as a little treat for going along with this latest scheme of hers.  She hadn’t even bothered to ask Matthew or Hector, knowing they would have just laughed at her and refused.  But Erk, well, sometimes it almost seemed as though he really did enjoy her company.  

“Your lovely lady supposes  she can get the eggs.  But only because you asked so politely!”  Serra retrieved the eggs and held out her hands for Erk to take them when one of the eggs slipped from her fingers and cracked open on the floor.  “Eeeeeerk!  Look what you made me dooooo!” Serra whined loudly.

Oh, thank goodness for once she was actually - the sound of egg squelching on the floor grew concern out of his expression and he turned quickly. But seeing it was just an egg it returned to quiet indifference - he hoped she hadn’t caught that - and shook his head. “I suppose these sorts of things happen in a kitchen. No need to cry over... cracked eggs?.. I guess.”

With a sigh, Erk crouched down and cleaned it as best he could, although chances were the kitchen staff would probably be coming back to an unfortunate yellow-looking stain. What was he going to do with her... Well, he knew she didn’t do it on purpose, so he couldn’t get too frustrated with her. 

how sweet

Serra peered over Erk’s shoulder as he read through the recipe for whatever it was they were supposed to be cooking. She’d demanded something sweet but if Erk had actually done as she asked was yet to be seen. What was taking him so long anyway? Cooking really couldn’t be this difficult, could it?

Her lips curled into a grin as he addressed her. “Oh Erk, I just knew you found my voice to be lovely! It’s why you want to be around me so often, isn’t it? My lovely voice, my lovely looks, my lovely personality…”

Serra picked up the measuring glass he set down and examined it a moment before handing it back to him. “Don’t forget that I am the professor and you are the student here. And besides, you’re practically my vassal anyway. A good vassal doesn’t leave his poor lady to toil away in the kitchen!”

“Yeah, yeah, looks match the personality, alright.” He grumbled dismissively, pouring a bit of milk into the measuring cup. He thought it was the right amount - it looked correct, anyway. Better to be careful, if the end result was a mess Erk didn’t think he would ever hear the end of it. Saint forbid. 

He reached for the vanilla and took a smell of the bottle, making a face. Way too sweet smelling for his tastes. Well, whatever the recipe called for it, looks like. Not his problem (it was). “Riiiiight. Well, you’re beloved vassal could use a hand-” a snort of suppressing laughter “-so if the lovely lady could go over to the other side of the kitchen and get him two eggs, he would be ever grateful of her... grace...?” 

Though hailing from the heartland of his own land’s native church, he had never been the faithful type. Erk would never tell those around him his concerns over it - he would not bother himself with many people in his daily life if he didn’t care for it. It was just his own personal feelings.

And yet, magic was magic. His curiosity knew few bounds and he was always willing to try and to learn. However... he always tended to do his best in smaller circles so a large of group of people practicing at the same time was a bit overwhelming in a setting that wasn’t a battle. He kept his head down and ducked behind someone loudly raving about their faith and waving their hands around.

Thankfully, it seemed there were some like-minded folks who had settled on the other side of the room, which was much quieter. He glanced down at the book atop his small pile, brought from home and decorated with what was supposed to be a depiction of St. Elimine (though he thought that it really just looked vaguely like a member of the royal family). 

He shuffled over to the other side of the room, carefully placing his books on the edge of a table. The girl sitting on the other side looked vaguely familiar but he couldn’t really place a name, but she seemed harmless enough. “...Would you mind if I joined you? It’s a bit... busy over there.”

Erk was the type to often ignore his intuition - if one could step outside of their comfort zone they could find something out about themselves. That being said, he very rarely neglected his common sense. And common sense, to him said, ‘when a certain pink haired former employer of yours asks to do something you tell her no’. But he couldn’t. And so here he was. 

He squinted down at the book, the letters faded and the page dirty. Half? No, a quarter. Probably. ...Why was he doing this again? His eyes darted to the culprit standing not too far over. He put the measuring glass down and leaned on the counter.

“You know, Serra.” As he spoke, he tried to keep the complete annoyance and frustration tamped down - for now. The day was still young and his patience had yet to wear thin. “When you suggested something about food, it would have been lovely for you to use that ever-charming voice of yours and, I don’t know, said it was something like this! And why am I doing most of the work here!”

“You really are something else, you know.” He sighed in resignation and turned back to squinting at the recipe. 

» to play with death

She’s still staring at the markings on the sand when he speaks, and once more, self-consciousness springs back in full. She can dance in front of anyone, no problem. This was different, however. If she messes up, it’s not just her own embarrassment or her ego being hurt, it could potentially harm someone– a student she doesn’t even know, no less!

It’s his last preposition that urges her to accept. An audience over a performance she hasn’t fleshed didn’t sit well with her, but with the promise of protection, then perhaps….

“Will you, truly? Oh, you’re an absolute sweetheart!” A young knight in mage’s clothing. She’d hate to harm others with her unstable magic, and of course, she’d rather not herself if she could. With some guidance, maybe she can make this work with a bit more leeway…

“If you promise to be critical of me, I won’t be opposed to it. I saw a frightening pair of eyes when I was first attempting to his, although it could just be my head playing tricks with me…” She shakes her head as she remembers, and immediately looks back at the mage, “My name is Tethys. If you wouldn’t want my accompany, by all means, please have my back. The heavens know I need it.”

Arms crossed nonchalantly, an eyebrow raised in tentative confusion. Is it not natural to make sure others didn’t hurt themselves while practicing? It’s the right thing to do... though if he had to suppose, he didn’t really look like the sort to try and do the ‘right thing’ if he were being honest. 

“Of course I will.” He nodded assuredly, as if it were natural. He’d said so, why would he leave her after she seemed willing for his aid.

“...Tethys? I’m Erk. I promise that I will do my best to watch out for you, but to be honest... there truly is never one set way to do things. So be sure not to push yourself. Er... I guess you’re a dancer so you don’t really need me telling you advice like that, even for something like magic...” He let a breath out through his mouth and shook his head. 

a stable hand

Dimitri felt the pegasus tense beneath his touch as Erk approached. The creature eyed the mage suspiciously, a defiant huff forming clouds of water vapor in the wintry chill. But dark eyes fell from Erk’s face, instead focusing on his offering: a single, solitary carrot. The pegasus held its gaze, as if contemplating the sacrament presented with the scorn of an angry god. 

Frozen in place, azure eyes practically burned a hole through the palm of his companion’s hand and into the ground. Dimitri recalled his father, ever the blessed animal handler, introducing him to the castle’s pegasi. They’re proud creatures, the late king had said. One does not choose a pegasus; the pegasus chooses you. That day had been ended with a young Dimitri observing the newest cohort of royal knights being bucked from the backs of the winged creatures. 

The breath hitched in his throat as the pegasus stirred. He followed every inch of the creature’s movements, as it finally dipped its head and gently took the carrot into its mouth. 

Dimitri’s shoulders visibly relaxed as his tension melted in a deep exhale. He hadn’t realized he had been holding his breath, as the air trapped in his lungs tumbled out in a thick fog. “Smart thinking, Erk,” he said, giving the other student a smile as he gave the pegasus’s mane a reassuring pat. “Now all that’s left to do is to return—!”

A guttural screech shook the ground as the pegasus launched into the air, Dimitri still hanging onto its mane with a vice-like grip. Instinctively, the prince had attempted to reach out and grab onto Erk with his other hand, as if the mage would somehow ground the entire operation. 

Breath stilled as nerves heightened, reflexively choosing not to breathe over reaction. He was terrified that if he moved even the slightest bit, the creature would get upset and turn away. He was afraid to even move his eyes and he focused on a stop just beyond it, only the slight clicking of hooves against the ground and a snort of approval any sense of reassurance that indeed it was going well.

The winged mercenaries of Ilia he had only observed from afar, so any sense of professionalism would be thrown out the window. Not that he promoted it particularly strongly in the first place, but knowing what to do in any given situation always helped.

Erk’s long-held breath escaped in little huffs as he felt the carrot taken from his hand. Still afraid of any sudden movements that might startle the runaway pegasus, he pulled his hand back slightly. “Thank the heavens that came in useful.”

The victory was short lived, as it may and he started as the shout of fear. “Ah - Dimitri!” He bolted forward and grabbed the outstretched hand, boots sliding uselessly against the ground as he struggled to pull back. 

» to play with death

“I… I was.” Dancing she never feels self conscious about. Magic, however, she’s a bit ashamed about. It was completely unpolished, sporadic… and because of that, dangerous. “Or at least, I was trying to.”

She sighs a bit, composing herself as she lets out her disappointment for herself. He looks young– around the same age as Ewan. She can’t imagine the man as a physical combatant– a mage like him too, maybe. If he was, she must have looked so silly to him. 

“I’m a dancer, not a mage. I can channel a bit of magic, but I’m not too knowledgeable on sigils, and incantations. So I thought…” She trails of, looking down on the small formations created on the sand. She only swiped her legs to form a small crescent, but there were traces of a sigil that remained in the sand, formed somehow by her attempt at magic. It was a bit indistinguishable but she felt a bit of hope as she sees it.

His eyebrows knit slightly at her responses, as if both concerned and curious. She seemed a bit.. hesitant? embarrassed? to have been seen, and Erk could get an inkling of an idea as to why. He was the type to study and practice in private after all. Not being a dancer in any large capacity, naturally he wasn’t sure if that would apply to them as well, but a small feeling told him it might.

“...I see.” His eyes are also drawn to the lines in the sand, concern washing into something more akin to thoughtfulness. A person’s capacity for magic and how they called to it and made it part of themselves was always a topic of interest. He wasn’t an expert or authority by any means, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t be able to pique his curious.

“If I may...” Erk spoke carefully, as if picking which words to use. “Would it be possible to let me see you practice it? With your dance? If not, I have no intention of intruding, but...”