𝔑𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗘 ᶠ̲ᴿ̲ᴼ̲ᴺ̲ᵀ̲

the paleness of herself must have disappeared entirely under the heat of kassandra's touch, the undeniable waves of desire rolling over august and august rolling along with them, over kassandra's thigh, as if that was the only thing she could do; though it was not, not alone, as love's lust had many ways to chart a path - and august was nothing if not adapt herself at giving her all in matters of the heart. where she was seated over kassandras, two fingers in her mouth, august's eyes fluttered shut and she panted, felt the wetness of her own spit against the skin of kass's fingers, and moaned against the feeling of intrusion, this prelude to more, while her own arm curled around the breadth of kassandra's shoulder and tugged at the fabric of her tunic to pull it down her arms, so she could cling to all the firm muscle and tanned skin instead. it was a heavenly kind of thrill, the feeling of skin against skin, as if august could melt herself into kassandra's body until they fused into one being with no need to ever break apart. she was usually not one for such derilious longing, who wanted so much, but kassandra cut her down to the marrow of it, made her feel like she was burning from it, and needed to find a salve for it whenever they were together.

when she was kissed, august lifted her other hand to kassandra's neck to keep her in place, to indulge in the warmth of her mouth and the taste of her lips, something august could feel as acutely as the shared desire between them. " demanding as ever, my love. and just as proud of yourself, " she teased where her own thumb rested under kassandra's bottom lip and she then swiped it up against her reddened mouth, something august did with a kiss, knowing fully well she was looking even more flushed and more gone, the way a field turns golden from the summer sun before it was bleached off all its colour. she wanted kassandra to do just that, to take over her like a cloudless sky, to lay waste to august and make her think of nothing but her, and for her to feel nothing but her touch, her finger against her own wetness, so deliciously tantalising, making august move into her hand and over the thick of her thigh, and clawing at her back with more zest than someone as soft as her would otherwise employ for anything else. but this was kassandra, and kassandra was special, and august trusted her with her whole body.

she would never truly get use to it, this sense of unwinding august down to the nitty gritty of things. it wasn’t so much as pride at being the first one to unravel her in such a way, but serenity that she could give her this at all. that she was trusted to indulge it, to repeat it daily, to exorcise the doubt, to enable her to think: this was perhaps the wonderful feeling of deservedness that took root in mind and body. for a lover like herself, what was a greater triumph than to say, she could love and knew how to love, in all the ways that mattered to august? it was in her kisses, spread down the length of a neck, over the flush of two warm cheeks. in the pirate’s hungry eyes & her lover’s dewy mouth— which was obedient to the point of painful pleasure. the kind that was going straight and arrogantly to her head.

met an unnatural eye unflinchingly, gojō smiles to himself, pulling his blindfold back over his face at the returned acknowledgement.

❛❛ i'm one-of-a-kind, ❜❜ he confirms, proud, but there's an underlying string in the instrument of his voice plucked— loneliness. one of a kind is one of a kind, and there will never be another in his lifetime. how could he be truly understood? and yet! here on this rooftop, he is not the only anomaly.

satoru retains a poker face, perfectly expressionless as he listens, but the rapidity of his heartbeat betrays stronger emotions. what he'd hoped would bring some clarity, that he could see for himself, bewilders him further. he doesn't understand. he can't comprehend, and it frustrates him, that he can't get it nailed down right and quickly. STILL human? what does that mean?

❛❛ i don't understand, but i'd like to. i'm not in the business of obliterating things before i get the full picture. jujutsu sorcery is what i call an individual sport. no two players handle the game the same way, but i may be more of an outlier than most others. it's my responsibility to behave better than the next neanderthal, because if i can't keep my composure, who can? i try not to make a habit out of hurting children. have two of my own. really, they've taught me a lot about myself, and it's them you can thank for my stay of hand. so, help me understand you kaneki. what am i dealing with here? ❜❜ best heard from the source, satoru's stomach twists at all the implications. trying not to jump to conclusions is easier said than done.

❛❛ not quite. my curse-blood is deified. i'm a god, not a demon. ❜❜ he says so plainly, already common knowledge amongst the greater society of sorcerers. even if gojō didn't mention it, kaneki ken could find out on his own easily enough. there's a reason no one dares oppose the six eyes. his ancestor, sugawara no michizane, was a curse so powerful he couldn't be exorcised— satoru is kilometers closer to existing as a monster than any other sorcerer. kaneki's comparison isn't false.

one of a kind was a curse on its own. at least on that he felt a sting of sympathy, but it was short-lived. predators rarely could afford being this easy-going when it was particularly considerate to kill on instinct. he wonders how many people he’s going to find in his life who claim to be some type of god. even if it were true, what did god matter to him? a construct, about as stable as being a demon. about as killable as curses. being a god, being a hellspawn. all these distinctions he’s been thrust into, they hurt his head. too much noise.

vaguely he registers the tidbits offered: the guy has kids. he must be a mentor of some sort. how did those academies or schools work again? he’s so out of the loop, really, he doesn’t know much about sorcerers that way. hide tries his best to help, an intention that’s recently been apparent to him, but his attempts to evade his past have been skilfully efficient. he made a mental note to think a bunch of children for some god-wizard’s merciful self-control in not obliterating the world.

       ❛ i’m just a demon. what would i know? tell me, god,  ❜ he said, an atheist’s uncomplicated & meaningless prayer that would go all pointedly unanswered. to rub it in, the sky was grey too, which ken turned his glance to away from six eyes. ❛ don’t you know the answer to everything? or anything?  ❜ his words were punctuated by the crack of his finger joints, an idle motion he hadn’t let go of. it’s clear kaneki is less interested in being forthcoming, or talkative in general, when the conversation turns especially to him.

❛ how are the two so different? they exist because the other does. it shouldn’t be so surprising, to eventually merge.  ❜ he saw it that way at least. could reze have ever known consciousness if the hatred of a few dozen humans hadn’t generated her? would those very humans exist, if the mere essence of human hatred wasn’t part of what had evolved humans this far? & he has it now, lodged like a bullet in his chest. the pandora’s box sleeping. at his side, satoru insists: what happened to make you both? kaneki stalls for a moment as the words grate his throat on the way to his mouth. ❛ i’m sorry, i don’t owe you that story.  ❜

with her eyes squeezed shut, her senses mottled and mystified, perhaps she simply had not noticed the state of him: the crudity of his desire for her. how it threatens to tarnish anything left of life or beauty that he may seem to possess. over her shoulder falls an anchoring beam; the skin of his arm dithers a dark plain of scars built upon scars, piled over one another like the chaotic crust of cooled lava. it's a sobering sight. for him, at least. granting him the moment to find his breath and center again, though he's no less aware of how exquisite it feels to remain soldered to her. how close he'd be to plunging into a small death if he moved so much as an inch, felt so much as a quiver, or heard so much as a syllable of his name cried out with abandon again.

❛❛ not yet, lyubimaya. not yet. ❜❜ he pants, his lips and forehead pressed between her draped shoulder blades, movements slow as sap. ❛❛ stay here with me a little longer. ❜❜ he'd ask her to stay forever if he could. drenched in amber sweetness, a moment immortal. but she craves friction. a means to a great dissolving end. the palm-fitted hold over her mouth doubles as the leverage needed to draw her into his body and he to hers. to see her follow the tempo he commands instead of giving in to her own greed. to trust that he knew best. that her patience, her silence, her agonizing with him as close to the edge as they may tolerate— there was no greater feeling, no matter how much the body lies and begs to stop resisting. let it be finished.

perfumed with one too many fantasies, it is not merely his own name that holds power of them alone. no, it was his own and hers together, melded with such brutality that they had become one, that perfect thing in her mind’s eye. she clung to it on sleepless nights enough; did he not grow sick with shame and envy to think, how much her thoughts and fingers had to wander without him? there was no true heat then to the sacrilege, and there would not be any the morning after or the two weeks she would go without him in august. it was real & it was true to her only now, in the spent ferocity of her breath, the purchase of his hands on her skin, or the cruel overlap of scars that brushed her shoulder where he angled his arm. for a moment, she pants against the sheets where her face is pressed and in the next, she shivers in her attempt to gather her bearings. there are two stains in the sheets where her tears had fallen, and a red bruise where her mouth had grown bloody from violent nipping.

she feels his breath exhale at her back. soft, lustful rhythm of: pah! pah! a shivery, lovely thing in return, her sigh; and then he understands she thinks, that she grows impatient quickly with him, in their fighting & in their love-making— and that the uncomplicated bliss of this standstill was addictive smoke to a starved pair of lungs.

a world seemingly underground, cunning and careful enough to have gone undiscovered for as long as it has— satoru’s felt as though an inner eye has opened as kaneki has submerged the world’s strongest sorcerer little by little in his existence as both monster and man. an entire universe of a sub-culture ( a unique species ) exposed to him on the coattails of indisputable trust. a world which satoru’s heart carries upon his shoulders, and still has faith enough to extend his arms to try to bridge the gap between what he was born as and what he ended up. neither curse, nor man. is it not then satoru’s responsibility to protect that dream, too? the honored one! a force of terrifying nature : he exists to maintain the delicate and intricate biomes between the corporeal and metaphysical. befitting, that he loves so strongly a man exemplary of that equilibrium.

in the perceptions of those around them, the ghoul king and the six eyes are not in love— to some, neither of them exist to one another, or they are enemies, or satoru is kaneki’s waiting executioner. to others, they are collaborators for a greater cause, or in partners in crime, or settling business together. sitting slouched, knees spread open wide, a body physically aching for touch stares across the table : a terrible, blue glint peeking above the blackout lenses of an expensive pair of sunglasses. a chilling crawl, the way satoru’s gaze examines kaneki’s profile … the awful sensation of being watched by a hunter. the intruding creep of a stalking predator against ken’s soul.

still, the man-curse is a marvel to observe. amongst the other ghouls in this space radiating with night life, kaneki is the full face of the moon, illuminating and irresistible— he draws the eye, commands attention. a renaissance painting, how the others flock to him. reach for him. how they crave, how their cursed energy morphs and tugs toward him like wanting tides. everybody wants a taste! but kaneki is satoru’s … mine, mine, mine, he dreams, still fixated now on the back of ken’s head. the slope of his neck into the collar of a coat. the pale hairs which catch over cloth’s lip, each inhale he takes at the beginning of a thought while he speaks, the way his chest fills with air the way his hands gesture the-! hopeless. i’m hopeless, thinks satoru.

the invitation was given through the vibration of bass. only if you were a curse would you hear it speaking to you through the private frequency of monsters. the distant vibration takes them through the puzzle of a condemned subway platform, long abandoned and left to the company of rats. there's enough graffiti hear to inspire generations & a tunnel with the maw of a movie-like chasm; within, where the ceiling reaches into darkness and industrial pillars drown into unknown depths, there is a neon sign. it flickers in pinks, reds, a toxic green that says: WELCOME TO EVERYWHERE ANYWHERE. water drips when his masked head turns, when all heads accompany and guarding the door turn, to the strange little guest he's brought along with him this time. oh yes, six eyes can come with. there's no problem with that, is there?

no problem at all. come right in. the air smells a bit metallic and there's not a spec of organic blood. he can smell the other thing too: dance sweat, rave whiskey & artificial blood. the mood is intense rather than celebratory; curses didn't know how to relax, they knew how to pine and hunt and flirt with danger. they knew how to scrawl their poetry on the walls and cope with the world above by making this the space to unravel. some are lone ghouls making peace with the substitute whiskey. some, aogiri sympathisers hoping to go unnoticed. independent mercs and scavengers, former nightmares, college-aged curses high on drugs knowing the one-eyed was watching over them. his own oddly scented guest is stared at, watched dubiously, suspected and magnetising, but he is left alone to drink in favour of what curses could truly enjoy with the one-eyed ghoul.

he is swarmed quickly with a growing number of bodies surrounding him. masked faces staring back, masks that made them one, pincers for arms and vampiric teeth and red eyes glittering with expectation. their personal arts, that they are forced to wear for anonymity and a brief glimpse of fun. it's a bittersweet thing, this suffocating atmosphere that is at once his freedom. they drink him up and think him a saint. they wonder who his companion is until they realise with horror and confusion, unable to voice it, stifling it & absorbing it with startled awe. they stare and stare but his own hard gaze merely swerves when it feels the cold lick of a phantom tongue up along his spine—

no, those were just his eyes, those blue eyes, watching him intently over the rim of a sweating glasss. he stares back with the insolent confidence that affirmed, he was not the prey in this scene. he was a careful promise of teeth behind a muzzle. he was a single scowl that could strip paint from the walls and bend low the eyes that watch him save for the one he desired in truth. a standoff of red and blue, until they understand through a frequency of their own that excluded all others: each vibration spelling out a longwinded invitation that he understands before it needs to finish. the nightclub is left behind until he materialises through the wall in a silent burst of shadows. an alleyway, fresh air, night sky & the possibility of rain. they collide in the middle.

❛ oh— fine, fine. take it. ❜ he saw straight through her, and didn't waste time at all, didn't wait for her permission as he grabbed hold of her thigh, lifting it, battle-worn eyes examining gore. the cut hurt like a bitch, a pain that licked hot down her legs as she was forced to slow down, stubborn dregs of adrenaline her only solace. and his hands, his well-meaning chides. proof that she'd put down roots and had a basis in the real world. the spy watched as crimson stained his clothes, and her lips pursed a little, twitching down, a characteristic, subtle version of a frown. she reached forth, well-manicured and now well-bloodied fingers drifting along his collarbone.

❛ it's nothing personal, hun. i just didn't expect to lose. ❜ then, quieter, a rare concession that he'd been right, and she'd been wrong: ❛ but i have—for now. serves me right. i needed you all along. mad at me? ❜ he couldn't be, not for long. licking her lips, she found that her mouth was slightly dry and longed for water. one balm at a time, though. leon's care to her wound bore fruit; she felt better about it all at once, no groaning dread of future infection, only the very realistic throb and the appreciation that came when he did these things for her.

apparently satisfied with his work, he fixed his hand around her wrist, and continued to talk, letting his griefs and devotion be known to her and the surrounding rubble all the while. she watched him as he shifted, standing too, taking the helping hand, eyes on him and ears tuned in. and the spy made to move once on her feet, to walk alongside leon, an independent thing even when stabbed through. but her knees buckled, a weakness clearly predicted if the arm swiftly swung about her waist was any indication. she huffed a dry laugh. ❛ cute. ❜

❛  oh, good,  ❜ he starts, gravelly and all, his disapproval still far too apparent when pinching his face together like this. ❛  only took a bullet to the leg to figure that one out.  ❜ but the pit of discontent in his chest stretched far beyond his personal disagreements with ada, and to the fact also, that someone had gotten the drop on her. he had never thought it entirely possible. it said less about her skill, which was unparalleled for as long as he had known her, & more about the rigid determination of whoever was chasing them. they had meticulously planned it out, and he thought the realisation must have occurred to him at the same time that it occurred it her: the only reason it had succeeded this far, had to be because they knew her.

naturally, he’d caught her around her waist as soon as she made to stand. thinking it would go as smoothly as just that, walking away a stab wound to the leg, she crumples into his side and pays the price for it a moment later. he says nothing to reprimand her this time, but uses the strength of his arm around her to prop her upright instead. carrying almost all of her weight to spare her the effort of putting any more pressure on her leg than what was necessary.

          ❛  easy— i got you.  ❜ slowly, she was turned into him. smoke at their back and the building all too quiet for a moment. he looked down after scouring their surroundings, & with his thumb, wiped away a spec of sweat from her brow. ashen, but colour was coming back to her cheeks slowly. she was exhausted but attentive still, her voice unbothered through it all. ❛  got him in the upper arm, probably crawled back to where he came from. we can track him while he’s down.  ❜ leon had got the shooting arm too. whatever plans this mysterious nobody had were temporarily put on halt. this gave them a momentary edge to chart their way forward.

after a moment, watching her breath out stiffly and speak, he brushed his fingertips just past the line of her jaw. an ache, spreading slowly in its haunting at the centre of his palm, felt amiss to him when touching her. craning his head down, he clipped her mouth in a kiss. then, he moved the caress to the spot between her brows.

the speedster wasn't pissed, not even close, but she gave him a little kick beneath the table, anyway, a swat as her skin warmed, contact meant to jostle, not harm. her mouth quirked, eyes of the studious scholar and ceo flicking over him while he sat back in the booth. there it was again: the squeaking noise of the seat. the environment had almost comical timing! her subtle smile broke into a grin for exactly 3 seconds, then smoothed into something neutrally content for speech. ❛  easy, i'd hate to put you on your ass in front of grandma and grandpa,  ❜ booth number 6, just to the left. they were wearing their church finest and couldn't hear jesse at all. she tipped her foot a little to the side, a jolt going down her spine at the brush of contact he lent her. touch held so much power. she hadn't known until she'd met him. or maybe she had, and she spent a good chunk of her life running, too afraid to melt in someone's palm. well, here's for melting.

❛  you know what i'm talking about.  ❜ duh. jesse's other leg, not captive, shifted suddenly, and his pants leg slid an inch up his calf as she nudged it. ❛  and yep, i do, so, once a week at least. that too much for you to handle? think about it and reach out to my people. we can try my place next time. you cook.  ❜ fully a jest between them. he hardly needed to put in a notice; they were comfortable enough with each other to justify jason simply showing up.

noting that some of the food was still untouched, (she'd had enough herself— her appetite was vast, but not limitless) jesse fondly suggested he try the churros. he was full, though. clearly. and most definitely distracted, if the press of limbs beneath the table was any indication. jesse kept her blue eyes on him as she finished off her lemonade, a lapse of just a few seconds, and said, amusement in her tone, no longer the ceo but some lovesick, hypocritical thing who'd come to reap her own proclamations:

beneath the table of the booth they were sharing, their legs were busy in a prompt match of kick and push. when he felt her boot slide up his calf, and retaliate with a light kick, he returned it by nudging her ankle back with his own. on the surface however, his face was pulled back with mock surprise. he set his cheek into his palm and poured every bit of sarcasm that he could into his words. ❛  nah, i don’t— what are you talking about? would love to know.  ❜ then he leaned back and sprawled an arm over the headrest of his own booth seat, & did the other thing she found exceptionally funny: never rising to the ego bait, he shrugged and took the fall.

        ❛  too much. i’ll curl up in a corner and die on my own, thanks.  ❜ then he blew a breath, used two fingers to quickly shoot himself right at the temple. ❛  ‘reach out to my people’. put your pr exec cosplay away, i only give my interview dance card to brunettes.  ❜ he reached out and stole a fry from her plate, & munched on it with considerably less enthusiasm than what he’d started with, but the taste was nice and nagging her was a close second fulfilment for his gluttony.

between egregiously slow chewing and feeling the comfortably draw towards an inconveniently timed nap, he glanced out the window at the rare but familiar sight of gotham nearing sundow. maybe it would rain soon, drown it all in greys. maybe he’d feel the chill of a clouded skyline, or maybe he’d be in her bed, tangled to warmth any sane person would want to suffocate on, when it smelled like her.

        eager wasn't good,   eager meant there wasn't going to be a way out of this.   leave it to alex to still be looking for a backdoor escape after putting herself right in the path of siren.   no,   her song went to the bone and it wasn't dislodged without leaving its teeth in you.   ❛ yeah,   well i didn’t come for the music,   i came for the view – nice setup you have up here.   ❜ not that she hadn't enjoyed the show,   just maybe not for the right reasons.   not a hint of nerves on stage but the persona cracks ever-so slightly when the merc pulls into her orbit.   

        ❛ you read a lot of those?   hot books,   i mean,   i had a feeling you were a little freak.   it’s always the sweet-lookin’ ones,   isn’t it...   ❜ no way she hadn't realized that she walked right into that one,   alex was only ever an opportunist.   the image it conjured wasn't displeasing either;   text playing across the back of her eyelids,   hair splayed over her pillow,   a burgeoning flower as her breathe grew more staggered...   that's where their train of thought crashes and they're forced to recalibrate  —  to find some reason, at least for the next few minutes or so.   ❛ plus,   you attract some real weirdos so can you blame me for keeping tabs?   i think you got enough of that attention already.   ❜  she is ready to add to this consideration,   thumb pressing into the slope of her hip on one side with her fingers grazing just below the skirt's meager length.   

         ❛ so,   you do get worked up out there in your little outfits,   cute.   ❜ pressing into her with the generous swell of her chest.   it would be a pretty damning view if she looked down then but they are more fixated on the way phira's mouth quirks upward as she does her best attempt at teasing.   ❛ i’ve definitely tripped for less but you look like a soft place to land so i think i can risk it.   just don’t get used to it,   i'm not exactly known for ‘nice',   phi.   ❜ despite playing hard to get,   they really weren't difficult to catch. at least not once the predicament of distance was dealt with.   since getting clean there were few highs left that match that particular mind-numbing ecstasy but slotting her mouth over the parted softness of the singer's comes close.   they aren't neat about it,   a tongue already slipped past her teeth and her hand had a fist full of her skirt and then some.   after weeks of keeping themselves from killing their contract with contact all the rules diminished then.   

so use to losing in this playing field, it took her a moment to realise it had worked. she kept her megawatt grin from blinding alex on the spot and stifled it by pursing her lips. she spoke in small bursts, whispered now with the queasy crawl of desire in her stomach. ❛  oh yeah, i’m sure you did.  ❜  would it kill them to admit they might have come for her? possibly. their half-lidded portrait of inexpressive amusement was still a barrier to read through. that was coming from a siren, who had to survive celebrity city by reading people as part of business. a laugh fumbles out of her. she hadn’t been expecting it, but it brings her private life stuttering into view; books that were becoming decor during busy tour months, hot & cheesy romance novels that kept her company when the room got too lonely. she felt her face flare more, a hand swatting the merc’s shoulder. not like that, she was saying, but in truth: it was quite like that.

she also wasn’t going to explain or defend the controversial discourse around some of the fantasies she had been entertaining, courtesy of one equally controversial merc in her sphere...

         ❛  shut up. ❜ another swat, though they had a tendency to wind up closer with each attempt to push apart. she was against them now, arms around their neck & their hand, not to stealthily sneaking up her skirt. ❛  they’ve got plot, okay— and you have no idea what they even mean, do you. hot books. come on, alex.  ❜ she noticed it keenly, felt it keenly, saw the awareness of it reflected in her eyes by what she saw in theirs. her breath spent itself slowly, knee bending to caress the line of their pant leg. things were progressing faster than she could quip back at them, but it doesn’t stop her lidded stare from weighing so heavily on each little flick of change in their face.

she feels flustered being read back, the flare in her stomach reaching her throat, but she doesn’t buck away. ❛  mhmm. maybe. after all this... aren’t you?  ❜ there’s also not enough time to overthink it. tripped for less? soft, or easy? she wavers briefly but it’s rectified by the warm press of a mouth on hers. a tongue slides against her own and she meets it with the gradual rise of her chest, breath expelling sweetly and a soft noise courtesy of the hand grabbing a lot more of her than just her skirt. she feels herself smirk against the kiss, dangling like dew in more ways than one, & sighs happily when their lips part. ❛  oh, that’s real chivalrous. come here.  ❜ her head is slow to nod, licking at her own bottom lip for the taste of them; then she pulls close again, hair tucked away by their fingers, and kisses them fleetingly while pulling on the collar of alex’s shirt.

but @yharnum was oblivious. he only seemed to act true to his heart when his thoughts were slowed; the drinks they shared made their blood hazy, made everything warm, confidence surging. james wasn't a fool; but nor would he indulge his doubt. all night, his nerves had been alight, every brush of their fingers, every heavy-lidded look and smile and grasp building his hopes heavens' high.

a small, invisible bubble formed around them. this was the simpler magic that james had always been so aptly capable of and that oliver quietly envied: suspending oliver to moments of peace and comfort, where the rest of the world might melt away. a childhood habit of longing in his heart, thudding away and betraying his secrets to the only one who might listen to them to begin with. he smiled nervously. as james stepped closer, tender and knightly, he swallowed a little to himself & held his breath. however quiet he had thought to keep his affections all this while were rendered moot.

the events of the last few weeks and their precarious situation with the infected tadpole had made it feel meaningless. what did it matter, if they might possibly die soon or become mindless puppets? the dread of that alone had perhaps spelled out his impulses, and james, quick as ever, had caught on. ❛  i have—?  ❜ he thought of it then, all the glances, the looks & the lingering brush of hands. perhaps he had. the mischievous knowledge of that made his smile tug upwards more ridiculously. a few months ago at the academy and he would have seen such blatant confidence as punching above his own weight. yet here he was, indulging it if not outright encouraging it with the light in his eyes. ❛  you noticed, did you?  ❜

the hand against his chest flexed, and his breath expanded with it, as if it were on strings. he felt james smooth down his vest and, tugging at the sudden tightness of his doublet’s collar, he flushed with a quiet delight at being noticed. appraised meaningfully, even.