To Die For

Chapter 3 - Wyle Dolon

The mansion looms high above the marshy fields. A few cows and sheep, the odd goat. And the entire house itself in surprisingly good repair. And a light, burning in the window. Steady through the fog, a candle my mother refuses to put out. No matter how  long I've been missing.
I see it and begin running with strength I didn't know I had in me. The dog barks joyfully, tearing down the muddy lane that leads the wide iron gates. A bark that only heralds my return.
I shoulder my bag on my sore back, running through the thick mud and launching myself halfway up the gate to roll over.
The dog reaches me when I land, licking my face. I pet its soft ears, laughing. I'm home. I feel tears on my cheeks as I struggle to my feet. The front door has opened and I see my mother on the porch. She catches sight of me and begins running. My father comes from the fields, tending to the animals more than likely. They both run to meet me on the drive, my father reaching me first to catch me in a strong hug. Then my mother joins us and he wraps his arms around us both.
My mother kisses my forehead, inspecting the gash on my temple and then hugs me again. My father just squeezes me firmly, as the dog leaps around our feet.
"You all right?" My father asks, tipping my head to inspect me.
"I'm fine," I say, leaning against them both, "I'm on a 24 hour pass they put me with a new unit."
"Come inside," my mother says, a hand through my hair her weathered face a not much more feminine version of my own, her hair now with grey streaks but now cut as short as my own. I lean in between them, content to have their arms around me. my father smells comfortingly of wood shavings, he was working in the shop no doubt.
"In Nexos they said your entire unit was killed by mines," my father says.
"They were," I say, slinging my bag off my back as we walk to the kitchen. The great house, while big enough to house fifty, household and servants, now is home to the three of us. It's no less grand, we keep it in good repair, glass in the windows and the rooms though cleared, neat and free of dust on the old oak floors. I've known no different, growing up here these empty halls were my playground. Stark as they are they are warm with familiarity.
"And?" My mother asks.
"The subsequent explosion proved a suitable distraction. Another unit was supposed to enter the depot and claim it. They knew there would be bombs, command did, becuase I told them. It was a trap. I recommended disobeying orders and entering ourselves first. No one took me up on it," I say, without remorse. They chose their deaths I have no pity.
"Why?" My father shakes his head.
"Was hoping one of you could tell me," I say, sorting in my bag and tugging out a leather sack, "This was in the depot when I got there."
My mother opens it carefully. A small mostly gold little rectangle. It's valuable. But not worth killing for.
"I don't know, it's a relic I assume," she shakes her head.
"Yeah, well, Nexos command wants it, and so did the Corfu rebels who'd been holding the depot," I say. Nexos is at war with any rebels, but Corfu is our usual enemy. "I killed two of them to get that."
"Yes, I have more arrows for you," my father knew where I was going.
"Good, cause I didn't have time to collect them and that doesn't feel worth it," I say, tapping the table.
"It's got to be I just—don't know what it is? Don't suppose anyone mentioned something being missing," my mother asks.
"No, but I've only been back a day. And they didn't find me in the depot I left before they got there, hence losing the arrows," I say, "It's got to be something."
"Means nothing to me," my father says, shrugging and looking at my mother. He's not of the old families, a love match he was a soldier before he was injured, left with a permanent limp. But he's regular person and my mother's family is ancient. Old knowledge.
"I'll assume grandfather might know? If it's nothing to us then might as well be worth the favor," I shrug. Being an ancient family my grandfather doesn't reside in Nexos. He's not a rebel or anything just does as he pleases, a powerful hunter and trader. He'll show up at the house now and then and is in the habit of materializing when we need him or when we have shiny things he'd also like. That said, he'd probably give us decent weapons or something if he knew what this is and wants it. If other people want it I assume he does too.
"I haven't seen him lately, I'd like to know what it is first," she says, turning it over in her hands.
"Here, assorted presents," I say, emptying my coat pockets, and taking another sack out of my bag. "These came from my new platoon mates, these came form my old platoon mates' bodies. So you know, careful where you sell 'em."
"Brilliant darling," my mother says.
My father sighs. He loves my mother and I very much but the word 'kleptomania' has come up in the odd conversation. He doesn't care but more treats it like a cat bringing the odd dead sparrow. Not necessarily a welcome offering but what's he going to do?
"I'll get you a new coat, for winter," my mother says, practically, examining the chain, "24k?"
"That's what I thought let me know if we're right. Got that off one of the Strong boys, think the younger one," I say, leaning on the table.
My father laughs a little, "I don't know how you two do that."
"Talent," we say, in unison.
"I'm going to make you lunch, how long do we have you?" My father asks, squeezing my shoulder.
"I got twenty four hours so I'm staying the night," I sigh, rubbing my face, "I'm supposed to have two weeks leave but they cancelled it, say they need me. So I forged the day pass. I wanted to come home."
"Your mother was scheming to get you home," my father says, knowingly.
"Oh do tell?" I ask, lying my head on my arms. I'm very tired. And being in this kitchen watching them is a very welcome slice of my childhood. It's not going to last but I can pretend for a while.
"Emersons are having a party this weekend, and I acted cross we'd not got an invitation so now we've got an invitation," she says.
"Why's that a scheme?" I ask, as my father places a plate of warm buttery biscuits in front of me. Heated at the hearth fire and dripping with fresh butter. I haven't eaten this well in weeks.
"It's a coming out party for their eldest, coming out into society and therefore open to engagement," my mother says.
"So since I'm an eligible young man I have to be invited but since we're ancient we're just there for the food?" I guess.
"Correct," my father says.
"You get a weekend pass to attend, we go, cut out early—"
"The Emersons retain most of their personal possessions," my father puts in.
"—and we get you the entire weekend, so you can sleep, and eat some decent food," my mother says.
"Go find grandfather see if he made good on a better recurve bow?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. I stole bullets for him and he said he would. That doesn't mean he would.
"And this ends with me taking you hunting outside the fence, yeah," my father says, amused, sitting down next to me.
"Fun," I smile, stuffing some of the warm biscuit in my mouth, "I don't have to actually participate in party though?"
"No we'll do that for you," my father says, dryly.
"They don't want to talk to us anyway we're only there to judge other people. And eat their food," my mother says.
"And relocate loose items," I say, smirking. My father puts a calloused hand over my face. I laugh.
"Three each deal?" My mother asks.
"Four, and pearls count as one."
"Jewelry sets count as one."
"Done."
My father shakes his head, laughing. He's accustomed to this sort of behavior by now and has chosen to find it amusing.
"Fun, do you get to pick me up?" I ask.
"I'll come and get you, check you out normally, for once," my father says.
"Meantime I'll see if I can find your grandfather, I'd like to know what this is first though," she says. He would definitely cheat us out of it's value. With love. But he would.
"It can wait, I'll see what whispers there are back on base, they might start talking. They were definitely looking for it," I sigh.
"You look tired," my mother says, studying my face.
"I'll keep, I can sleep on base. Now let's ah—yeah father can we get through those arrows? I need to work on my bow as well while I'm here," I sigh, rubbing my face, "And I'd kill for a hot bath."
"I don't think homicide will be necessary," my mother smiles, gathering up my plunder, "Go on with your father. I'll heat the water."
"How many arrows you got left?" My father asks, as I pick up my bag to go follow him outside.
"Seventeen, there was way too much fire I could not pick those up," I say, following him out towards his workshop. I take my bow and hold it out, the wood isn't warping yet but it's clearly cracked.
"I have a yew, see if you can handle the draw weight," he says.
"I love you," I say, following him into the dark shed. A couple of the dogs follow us happily, pleased I'm home. I pat their heads in turn.
"Your mother traded for the wood, I just restrung it," he says, holding out the bow to me.
"Gorgeous," I say, sliding my hand down the light wood, "What's it at?"
"Hundred pounds, see how you do, I know you said you thought you could go a bit higher," he says.
"I'd like to try get better range on it," I say, testing the string with no arrow notched, "Yeah, that should be fine."
"Do you know if your platoon's going back to the front?" He asks.
"Probably. Because it's me, yeah," I nod, "Why? She start worrying?"
"Both of us did. Wyle, I trust you, but not them, now you're with a less experienced unit," he sighs.
"And I'll handle that situation. Just like last time. I come home," I say, picking up a couple of arrows.
"And I'm aware this isn't going to be popular but please keep stealing from your platoon mates?" He sighs.
"Absolutely not what do you expect me to do?"
"Stop stealing from people you live with? You don't need to get caught," he sighs.
"I won't," I scoff, as we walk back out to the yard, "How's she been? Really?"
"Worried about our boy? I know we're not going to keep you from trouble but I'd like you locally in trouble?" He sighs.
"Well," I shrug, as we walk to the shooting range. Make shift hay figures that he's set up at different distances for target practice. He's not a poor shot himself and taught me to an early age after my mother expressed concerns about me going spear hunting, something my grandfather condoned and found amusing. I was seven and small for my age I realize now why my mother had concerns.
"Take your time, it's twenty pounds up from your usual weight," my father says.
I notch an arrow and stare at him.
"Tell me you don't act like this with your commanders—,"
I shoot without looking, still looking at him, hitting the very familiar target dead center. I then smile cheekily, "I"m always like this yeah, no I'm not popular."
"Show off," he laughs, handing me another arrow to try the farther target.
I glance then shoot agian, as rapidly as before, hitting the target in the center, "Love the bow, thanks father."
"You're welcome," he sighs shaking his head, "How badly are you hurt?"
I say nothing.
"That you're not telling your mother? Because you just favored your left foot."
"I had to get close to the mines," I say, flatly.
"So they wouldn't think you sent your platoon into an ambush?"
"I told them it was there."
"Bull shit."
I raise my eyebrows, "My platoon leader tried to leave me behind. Sick of my mouth he thought he'd leave me to an ambush. I lived. He wasn't about to take my advice so I walked them into a minefield by saying it was there which I knew they wouldn't believe. There. Are you happy now?"
He sighs. It's been a long two years and three different platoons.
"Why didn't you ask in front of her?"
"I figured you'd lie about stepping near a mine or something."
I glare that he knows me that well.
"Wy, about this party—,"
"I won't kill anyone," I say.
"That's—all right not where I was going good to know—the pretense is you're being considered as a match for this girl—do you want me to actually do that?" He asks. Typically fathers set up their children as such, that is he would plead my case and offer whatever money to pay for her hand in marriage. A six month courtship is common though in which the prospective suitor would court the girl. My parents I know was a year long because my father was deployed for a part of it. His father had already passed so he presented himself to my grandfather. My grandfather didn't care as my mother was happy to be courted by him. A rare enough love match and rare enough circumstances. Usually the father of the girl lets her have minimal say in it.
"No," I scoff, "Why?"
"Not to actually court her no—I admit that likely wouldn't work," he shrugs. We're a well known family but not well liked.
"Not us is it?" I ask. We're not ones for the spotlight. And there's a good deal of gossip. Old family or no, the manor and land is about all we have to offer.
"Just generally? A girl not the Emerson girl but, get you off base for a bit and have some fun?" He asks.
"I have my fun," I say, cuddling the bow.
"All right, well, offer stands. I will do that, if you want, just—if you wanted to enjoy yourself a bit it doesn't have to be serious. I was lucky your grandfather let me court your mother to get to know her," he says.
I nod. He's being nice. I know I tend to be insensitive and have no interest in courtship. But he's being kind about it.
"Thank you, but no," I shake my head.
"Okay," he nods, "Let's get you inside and cleaned up. I've got pies for dinner."
"I'll eat ten," I say, cracking a smile.
Back inside I'm hit with an incredibly weariness, down to my bones. I'm bone tired, and the safety of home makes me even more lazy. I at five of my father's pies, fresh cooked vegetables, and then go off to my room, leaving my parents to talk in the kitchen. I'm sure he'll tell her what I told him. They've had no secrets from one another that I know.
We only bother to heat one wing, I'm down the hall from them. My earliest memories are my cold feet on these wooden floors. Crawling into my parents bed in the early morning to sleep curled up between them for warmth. There's old paintings on the walls. Mostly things my family took once, too pretty to be parted with. Once valuable knowing my family. Only two are personal, one, faded, of the three of us when I was perhaps five, the last time anyone in Nexos had a camera and film. It's yellow at the edges. The other is of my parents at their wedding. A tradition, though usually quite formal, theirs is less so, and not on any prominent display, instead it's down this hall. My father holding her in his arms, her in her white dress, curled into his arms, head on his chest, his one arm firmly around the middle of her back, just obscuring a round belly. I was born but a few months after the wedding. A scandal for those who bother to remember, but the portrait is a shallow reminder. My mother told me long before anyone else could. It might be dismal to some but I like it. My father's posture, he's clearly claiming us both, his new wife and unborn child.
My room is warm with a fire going. The dog hops on the bed. I sigh, warm, and safe for at least one night I can lie with pillows and not snuggled up with my own belongings lest they be stolen.
I strip and bath, my mother has set out clean towels and clothes. A clean if threadbear shirt, and fresh socks that are good wool. I wash till the water runs clean, and only then wrap up in one of the soft towels. My belly refuses to accept that I'm full, but I'm also too tired to move, instead dropping into bed.
I sleep till well past supper, but my parents waited up. I eat with them, which is mostly me stuffing my face and them telling me amusing anecdotes of home. My father quickly has my mother laughing and I am more than ready to join in. She leans her head on his broad shoulder, a smile on her face. I'm glad they're well. And happy. And even if it means attending party I'll be home in another week.
All too soon it's time for me to leave. We don't have any transport so my parents walk me the three miles to the base grounds. My mother bids me goodbye with a kiss on my cheeks, and my father squeezes me in a fierce hug. Then I flash my credentials and walk back in the main gate. The guard waves me by tiredly, not even questioning my foraged pass.
I do expect someone to have questioned the pass when I didn't show up for drills, but the immediate summons to the chief's office is a surprise. I didn't know Chief Master Sergeants bothered to work this early in the morning. And I'm a bit surprised one is bothering with a little old lost Data. We're necessary for the survival of the platoons, so throwing us in the hole, taking our rations, or otherwise punishing us usually winds up being a bit counter intuitive. They need us healthy and at least somewhat ready to work. We're not going to be if we're locked up or starving. A little reprimand, maybe, but it's early in the day for it.
I report directly to the CMSgt's office, a hollowed out probably former shop, with no chairs and a single bare light bulb hanging overhead. I'm surprised to find it already occupied. Joss is there waiting. He raises his eyebrows at me and I smile. The door to the office is closed, and I can hear voices from inside. Naturally I go to the door to listen.
Strong's voice, loud and clear: "I want him removed. Now. Any other Data—I don't care what my brother said."
A woman's voice, harsh, and unquestionably authoritative, so that's our Chief: "Your brother asked that I send you the best. So I did."
Strong: "All of us were robbed last night and now he's not even here! No one granted Dolon a 24 hour pass so he's stolen from us and he's AWOL—,"
The Chief: "He's still the best Data there is."
Strong: "He robbed! All of us!"
The chief: "Dolon has ancient blood in him. His kind are chaotic, wild. But they are the only ones who can survive beyond the fences. You told me you could be a great commander. So learn to use him."
Joss heard it too, he cocks his head, frowning, clearly trying to guess what family I'm from.
Strong: "The Dolon family isn't old. His father's a carpenter."
Chief: "His mother's a Bellamey. They barely come out of the wilds. And Dolon isn't the boy's sire he just took his step father's name. He has ancient blood on both sides. You won't tame it. If you're wise you'll learn to use it."
I stiffen though try not to let my feelings betray me. My bastardy is blatantly obvious I'm aware, not only on paper but also physically. I look nothing like my father and paired together it's impossible to even imagine I'm his son. I assumed his chief was around or deployed with him, because of course when he returned my mother was several months gone with me. The timeline making it impossible for him to be my father even if he'd been with her before marriage. That said, I'm surprised for the topic to come up here. Seventeen years on it's relatively irrelevant and while it might be idle speculation when my father and I are together, I haven't had anyone dare to question it, given my father claims me as his and has since I was born, and I carry his name.
Joss doesn't react, or at least is polite enough not to.
"My mother's family's supposed to be ancient too, that's just an old story," Joss says.
I shrug.
"Meaning you're an asshole to rifle our things and cut out of drills," he says, with a smirk.
"You don't believe stories?" I ask.
"I think you're probably pretty smart, no one's that special," he shakes his head, "Chief just wants him to learn how to manage you."
I accept it in that he's not asking me about my father.
"Where'd you go all day?"
"Home, they like me," I say, pleasantly.
"My mother likes me too. My father's all right I guess, he's glad I'm a soldier," he says, shrugging. 
The door slams open before we can speak more, and nearly smacks me in the face. Strong is red faced and fuming, clearly hasn't gotten his way of having me reassigned. His rage isn't abated by finding me there leaning against the wall, so clearly freshly bathed, examining my finger nails delicately..
"I'm up I take it?" I purr, stepping into the Chief's office. I salute, she's not an officer but it's never wrong to salute in command. I find the chief to be about my height, probably my mother's age, with skin nearly as dark as my fathers, but pale grey eyes. She's incredibly put together this time of the morning, and ehr arms are folded.
"Close the door," she says.
I obey, coming to sit down.
"You foraged a day pass to get off base," she says, smoothing my foraged pass on the table. Well, time to take the initiative.
"Forged—-? I just wrote myself a pass because I was due one—was that—wrong?" I ask, hands to my chest, "I'm terribly sorry, ma'am, I didn't know—,"
"Enough. That mgiht work other places it won't here. But you're lucky I don't care," she says.
I stop, leaning back. She has me and I know it. I also heard her defend me to Strong.
"Your hair's out of regulation," she says.
"It's for my religion."
"Oh and what's that?"
"Looking better than other people."
"I should throw you in the hole. If I didn't think that getting out of there would be fun for you, I would," she says, standing up.
I say nothing, leaning forward.
"Oh, now you're quiet."
"I wouldn't talk back to a commanding officer."
"You have three times since you came in here. And lied. You probably can't help yourself," she says, walking around the desk and putting a hand on my shoulder.
I look up in annoyance but say nothing.
"Don't be angry. I see it in your eyes. They all can. Surely your mother told you the stories?"
"If there were ever any gods that watched over this world. They've long since fled. I believe in nothing but myself," I say.
She laughs, "You're gonna be hell for this unit you know that?"
"So reassign me," I say.
"Oh. No. I'm not doing that. You see I decided when they all came in here saying that their valuables were missing, that it'd be educational for them survive you."
"So I'm a learning experience?" I ask.
"You're whatever I decide you are. For now, you're a learning activity. I told them they're the only way they'll make it out there on the front," she says.
"But you don't think that's true?" I ask.
"I think you'll get yourself home safe all right. Your last platoon, shame you never got in the depot."
"Shame," I say.
"Because two of the rebels were found shot dead with arrows. You carry a bow, don't you, Wyle?" She asks, folding her arms.
"Like plenty of others. I'm a Data, I don't raid depots I certainly don't steal whatever it is all the men were looking for when they didn't bother to get me and the bodies of my platoon out of a minefield," I say.
"Because you know that if an entire army was looking for something, was sent to find it, that something would be valuable. And should not be in your sticky little fingers, becuase it's dangerous. You do realize that?" She asks.
"Most assuredly," I say, nodding.
"You can go," she says.
I rise and turn to the door, sensing this isn't over, "Oh and if you did happen to have something that you know for a fact was not meant to land in your light trickster fingers, you would not turn that in to anyone but myself clear?"
"Crystal," I say. So now I know it is very valuable. Wonder what it is? Or if there are more of them?
Strong and Joss are waiting for me when I emerge, fuming and being sanguine respectively. Joss marches me back to our room with little comment. I'll meet the rest of the platoon properly at drill.
The rest of the platoon is as I observed, made up primarily of fourteen year olds who have no intention of befriending their scowling new Data. Alpha and Joss appear to be the oldest, next to Strong who is about a year older than me. The rest are idiot kids, who primarily don't have their own weapons. PT drills is doing our usual work outs, pushups, running, course work, carrying our weapons. If we don't come with weapons, we're issued an axe or a bat as available. Naturally I came with my bow, so I exercise with it. That's usually looked down on as it's a light weapon, and I'm small to begin so I look weak. I hardly care what Strong thinks, he's the one thinking it definitely, as I fall into step at the back with Joss. I can complete all the drills with ease but I'm also not interested in showing off so I remain at the back, doing the minimum.
One recruit who I like enormously is an energetic boy named Seamus. Seamus is a complete idiot with no sense of personal safety. I think he's hilarious and he is now my child.
"Bet you can't go and scale the barb wire fence before the guards shoot you," I say, pointing him towards the boundary.
"I can! I definitely can I'm very fast!" Seamus is about to bolt towards the fence. His roommate tackles him before he can.
"No! What did we just talk about?" The taller boy cries, catching him before he can bolt and nearly be shot as a deserter. They're either in love or they're meant to be, roommates or something nice like that they're perpetually together. Seamus is small, fourteen looks like he's eleven. The other is also fourteen but tall and looking less like a boy. Oscar, with big brown eyes and sunkissed dark curls.
"They don't man those anyway," Seamus says, relaxing though in his friend's grip, "My mother says they don't have enough men." His mother hates him. I think his father hates him too. I think that because he never stops talking and I've absorbed perhaps half of it. 
"Yeah, we don't test it," Oscar says, glaring at me a bit.
"What? You think that's a worse way to die than out there on the front?" I scoff, "You're sorely mistaken. At least if you run for the fence you're out here in something like sunlight, and you might not even hear the crack of the gun before just one bullet takes you out of your misery."
"Then why don't you run?" Oscar asks, letting Seamus go but keeping a fist knotted in his fatigues.
"I happen to like hell," I say, letting the word roll off my tongue, "So do you because he's in it."
Oscar reddens quickly which means I'm right.
"Hey, Joss said don't talk to him," Seamus says, he hasn't been paying attention. But he tugs his friend's hands gently.
"You are though because you still think there's something in this world worth fighting for that isn't yourself. And if you actually care about him, or anything, you'll run for the fence and at least go in peace. It's better than what's out there waiting for people who believe in hope," I say.
"Oh my gods I'm so sorry," Joss clamps a hand over my mouth. Both boys were looking at the fence, shrouded by fog off in the distance. "I've got him, go on run ahead."
I twist like a snake in his arms.
"See? This is why I wanted to get rid of him, was he talking again?" Strong asks.
"Yeah I'm just going to—it's fine, it's fine I've got him," Joss says, finally letting me wriggle free.
"I'm right?" I say, shrugging, "You haven't been out there. I have. Three times. I know what it takes to come back and I know not one man here has it."
"You don't have to be so right, all the time, okay? You're—exhausting," Joss says.
I act like I've never heard that before when I definitely have, "I'm quite confused right now? I'm very pleasant and nice?"
"You know what I'm talking about," Joss says, flatly.
"Yeah all right," I say, shaking fully free of him.
"You know they might like you if you gave it a rest for a minute?" He says, "Strong and the others, they're not half bad."
"Everyone's half bad. I think that's the point of the stories our mothers told us, the ones we were supposed to pay attention to. And it's not going to matter when we're dead," I say, "When all of you walk into a minefield. I'm not stopping you either, and I'm sure as hell not going to save you."
"Well I don't plan on needing it," Joss says, slyly, "But they don't need your cynicism—don't take issue with whatever I'm calling whatever you choose to be I don't care to hear it."
"Well you shall be quite rid of me for three whole days this weekend. My mother's gotten me a pass. Some stupid 'coming out' party in high society," I say, waving a hand to illustrate how idiotic I think the notion of the party is. "But as it's three days at home I'm going. So I shan't be here."
"Oh my gods the Emerson's party?" Joss laughs.
"The very one, yes are you going?" I ask.
"Not only that Strong is going as well. He's gong to hate it he was looking forward to being miles away from you," he laughs, "What are you going for? I didn't think fancy folk—,"
"Mixed with ancient bloodlines no they do not. However, it's a three day pass. I could ask you the same question? You're not going to be engaged to the lovely Emerson girl," I say.
"The food," he says.
I laugh.
"No that's it. That and well a three day pass to go home, sleep in no drills. Plus, party you know," he shrugs, "Might be fun. There will be other eligible women there."
"If you think I am displeasing to soldiers do imagine how lacking of charm I am when it comes to women. In fact I am totally devoid of it I cannot abide idleness or flatter or pointless conversations all of which are essential in wooing," I say.
"So you fancy other soldiers?" He asks.
"Joss Lenon is that an offer?" I ask, hand to my chest.
"It can be, if you can be pleasant for two minutes combined," he says, "Answer the question. A straight answer for once."
"I fancy a good time and match to my wit, there in lies your answer. I must be amused. I'm a child. I love playing with things I'm not very good at keeping them. There's your straight answer," I say.
"That was nothing like straight but I'll let you have it. For educational reasons I think we should get you kissed though," he says.
"For educational reasons I think all of you should die," I say, with great affection.
"You're right women aren't going to talk to you."
"Yeah you heard it there eh?"
"More than a bit, yeah."