2022-01-09 - There's Always A Creepy Kid

Gray Pond. Described in tourist's guides to Gray Harbor as a scenic little freshwater pond central to town, with lovely, rustic scenery, benches at regular intervals along gravel paths, and adorable ducks. In winter, a crisp wonderland where the children skate and the town makes sure someone sweeps the ice every night for snow and debris as to not detract from the scenery. A couple of enterprising locals have put up stalls that sell home baked muffins, hot cocoa, and other easy concessions; there's even some guy busking with a harmonica, singing sea shanties and playing his instrument through fingerless gloves.

It's a beautiful day. A few kids are not skating -- sulking because their parents told them to not get on that pond at gun point, but they're the odd ones out. A few others are telling each other stories from the town's past, in that squealing, excited way kids will: Did you know that once a mass murderer dumped ALL THE BODIES EVER in this lake and AT NIGHT THEY COME OUT and they WILL EAT YOUR FACE, CYNTHIA, cue terrified giggling from Cynthia.

Ravn Abildgaard does not own a pair of skates. But he likes the weather (so does his asthma), and he's happy enough to purchase a cup of cocoa from the concession stand and then wander off to stand by the edge of the pond, watching the kids skate. Maybe he fancies himself a life guard. More likely it's just that as a Scandinavian from the very archipelago part of Scandinavia, he knows that good winter days are to be taken and used and milked for every drop of sunshine while they're here.

Skating is an odd hobby for Una to have picked up, but picked it up she has: she's far from the best skater on the ice, but she manages to get around well enough, skirting children (and occasionally interacting with them, too; she's clearly comfortable with smaller members of society) in order to do wide loops of the pond, her jaunty pink woollen hat-- complete with over-sized bell at the tip-- jingling merrily as she goes.

Pink-cheeked and a bit puffed, however, she eventually starts weaving her way around to the edges of the pond, wobbling slightly as she brings herself to a halt in preparation for stepping out of the fray.

It truly is testimony to the indomitable spirit of Gray Harbor that not even the glum atmosphere of Gray Pond can suppress the joye de vivre of the town's kids -- and as most of their parents are subject to the Veil's little adjustments and rationalisations, no one thinks too much about past history. If the air smells a little damp and there's an occasional murmur about past events, no one pays it much heed (except Cynthia who is going to grow up to become a writer for a true crime show, that kid cannot get enough of stories of gore and murder).

Which is probably why Ravn has sort of stayed within earshot of those kids telling each other horror stories. Not to protect tender little ears from unpleasant truths, but to listen in. He's a folklorist and a historian -- and the combination of the two means he is in fact very interested not just in what actually may or may not have happened here, but also in how the stories of it are passed down. If just half as many kids have actually drowned here as the kid named Billy claims, the pond would be fenced off and guarded by armed soldiers as a threat to national security. And also, the carps would be fatter.

He raises a gloved hand in a wave to Una as he recognises the red mane. "You're good at that," he tells her -- because she is, at least compared to him.

Una, too, has had a careful ear out for the tales the children are telling, though hers is less professional interest and more outright curiosity... possibly tempered by the desire of a one-time babysitter to make sure no one has too many nightmares tonight. That's probably unnecessary, given Gray Harbor, but call it force of habit.

Breathing heavily, it takes her a moment (or two, or even three) to catch up with Ravn's comment, not to mention find air enough in her lungs to formulate a response. She teeters a bit as she steps up onto the bank, but she's cheerful as she says, "I used to babysit for some kids when I was a teenager, and their mom wanted to make sure they didn't spend all winter indoors in front of the playstation. It's been a few years, though, and I am now hopelessly unfit." She's pleased, though: that much is clear in her grin. "Out enjoying the respite from the weather?"

"There are days enough in winter that are just rain and drizzle," the Dane agrees. "Let's enjoy the sun while it's here and all that."

He glances at the little circle of children slouching, leaning on, and sitting on that bench. Billy is telling the story of how there were so many bodies that it looked like shoals of fish filling the pond with large, dark forms. Cynthia is gaping and envisioning it all with glee. A couple of the others look bored, and a little girl looks uncomfortable.

"It's not true," Ravn quietly asides to Una. "It wasn't the pond, it was the bay. Should we break them up before that little girl's mother turns up in a pique, Miss Babysitter?"

"This is Washington," agrees Una, with a laugh. "Any day where the sun shines is halfway to miraculous."

Her little snort of laughter is partially hidden behind one mittened-hand, eyes dancing with amusement. "Oh, because that makes it so much better," she murmurs in reply. But she nods, eyes tracking across each of the children, lingering finally on the uncomfortable little girl.

Stepping forward on skates is a little tricky, but she does it anyway. "Well that's just silly. Everyone knows there's just lots of fish, happily hanging out beneath the ice. Come spring, they'll all come to the surface and make faces at us."

There are an awful lot of redheads at the pond for a single day, among them is a little boy Ravn may vaguely remember from his time at the HOPE Center, though most of his tight red curls are currently covered by a bright red hat. He's with the group of other kids, looking... uncomfortable. It wasn't that long ago that his parents were the ones in water, after all, and Alfie Jones hasn't been able to let it go.

The taller redhead, his older sibling and guardian, is currently securing fresh muffins and hot cocoa for himself and his little brother. That redhead is even more memorable, if only because of the cloud of curls that seem to have a life of their own, held back only slightly by one of those knit headbands meant to keep ears warm. Both of them are dressed in the warmest of clothes they have, and neither looks particularly in great fashion, but they're clean and they fit, and have no holes.

Spotting his little brother's expression, Monroe approaches the group, concern plain... only to hesitate.

"The climate here is not very different from my home," Ravn agrees with a grin. "We don't have the altitude for glacial melt but it's the same kind of biome. Fewer wolverines."

Who wants to be called silly by an adult? Not Billy. He picks the cue up instantly. "Yeah, bodies are stupid. They're just fish. Only little kids believe this stuff."

"And me," says Cynthia, helpfully. "Were there sharks? They're attracted by the blood and -- "

"Did you know that sharks cannot lie still and sleep without drowning?" Ravn intercepts with the first thing that falls into his mind. Maybe Alfie and the other little girl whose name he does not know do not need a Cynthia level introductory course to shark feeding fests. "They have to sleep one half of their brain aside while the other half keeps them swimming."

Una looks a bit ridiculous, red-hair, pink-hat-with-a-bell, skates and all. But she's taking it in her stride: when in doubt, own it.

She opens her mouth, ready to jump in with something more, but Ravn beats her to it - and actually, she looks super impressed. "I didn't know that," she says, gaze sliding from Ravn to the kids and then on to Monroe, too, the latter earning a somewhat apologetic glance, though none of this is-- surely-- her fault. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm super glad I can just sleep in a bed properly, right?"

Visible relaxation from Monroe as the topic is shifted to something more innocuous. "Oi, Alf." This gets a look from Alfie that threatens murder, but as Monroe approaches, holding up a bag of muffins and hot cocoa, he bursts into a grin and trudges over through the snow, eager to get his hot cocoa and muffin, while still keeping an ear on Ravn and Una's facts about sharks, because sharks are cool.

Monroe approaches, juggling one less muffin and one less hot cocoa. "I don't know, being a shark seems pretty amazing. Though I do love a nice bed." Monroe's got a lovely Received Pronunciation accent, one that Alfie mostly lacks.

"Did you know that they bite the legs first," Cynthia says with much enthusiasm, turning towards Billy who looks like he's momentarily contemplating applying for adoption with anyone who will take him far away from this little Wednesday Addams.

"Did you know that the largest sharks are also the friendliest?" Ravn all but inserts himself between Cynthia and her audience. "I am not sure of their English name. In Denmark we call them brugder -- herring sharks. They are very large, with tiny white spots all over. If you dive where they are, you can hold on to them and they will give you a ride. They eat tiny, tiny algae and water bugs."

"My dad lets me watch war movies," Cynthia says.

"I want a muffin," Billy says -- and disappears parent-wards, towards escape.

"My dad keeps tropical fish," says the little girl whose name has yet to be revealed; she seems far more comfortable with the idea of a game of my dad your dad than she was with debating a pond full of dead bodies.

One less small child is a good thing-- two, and Una nods her head, and sinks into one of the benches alongside the group in order to start unlacing her skates. "I think I'll stick with being a two-legged human, despite the advantages to shark life," she decides. "Though swimming with sharks sounds pretty cool, doesn't it?" The question is aimed out at the children, complete with bright, child-friendly smile.

"Do your dad's fish make faces like this?" Una makes a fish face, though it means she needs to pause in the unlacing process. It looks utterly ridiculous, because of course it does.

And there's a laugh out of Alfie. Luckily, it doesn't involve hot cocoa launching out his nose, because that might not be fun. He watches Billy wander off, and looks like he might consider joining him, because Cynthia is vaguely terrifying, if fascinating. He sets his hot cocoa carefully down, before taking out his muffin to begin nibbling at it. He's a lot quieter when there's no Denny around to babble about photoshop with.

"That is a surprisingly good fish face." Monroe comments, taking the lid off his cocoa to let it cool a bit in the frosty air. Neither sibling is going to play the my dad your dad game, it seems.

"Very authentic," Ravn agrees in his capacity of representative of the country in the world with the most stretch of coastline per inhabitant. "Esquisite. Piscine."

"Nice," says Cynthia. "You look like the ladies in those movies my dad lets us watch. They make that face when -- "

"No," says Billy and the other little girl in unison. "We've heard that one."

"Oh." Cynthia looks disappointed. What's the fun of horrifying people when they are in fact not horrified? "Well, that's just stupid."

"Maybe some day you should bring your dad down to the community centre," Ravn suggests. "I think somebody ought to have a talk with him, maybe."

"I can't," says the girl and shrugs. "He can't see me."

"Four small children, the public market in Seattle, and far too many thrown fish," is an explanation for her fish face that may make more sense in Una's head than in reality.

Also, she's distracted, because there's Cynthia-is-full-of-talk, and then there's Cynthia-is-full-of-uh-no-that's-really-not-ok... and this is the latter, now. She flicks a glance towards Ravn, and one towards Monroe, too, since both are clearly Designated Adults and Cynthia's dad is clearly not living up to that designation.

But also? "Can't... see you?"

Cynthia's dad... might not be living. Monroe's expression is sympathetic, but also... wary. He knows there are things in the world beyond what normal people understand. Faeries in the garden, and all. Una gets a return 'oh dear god' expression from Monroe, as does Ravn. "This is why you never let gingers congregate." he mutters.

Alfie, meanwhile, is looking at Cynthia like she's grown another head. "Is your daddy blind?" he asks, sounding sympathetic. He lacks most of Monroe's accent, sounding mostly American.

"Oh, no," Cynthia tells Alfie with all the scientific innocence of a seven-year-old. "It's just people like you who can see me. My daddy just sits at home and watches TV. And then he tells my baby sister about sharks and bodies and bad movies because she's too little to know what he says but it makes my mom mad."

Dysfunctional to the end, that one.

Ravn returns Monroe's look, over the girl's head. He makes that little expression that's so clearly a mix of I realise this is not ideal and but whatcha gonna do, typical of standing in line at the Safeway while some Karen demands to see a manager over the two cents price raise on cucumbers while someone's waiting for you outside. "Well, how about you tell me where you lived -- er, where you live, and maybe sometime I'll go see him?"

Oh. Oh! Una's a bit slow on the uptake, or maybe it's just that creepy little girls are supposed to be just creepy, not actually... creepy. She's also, now, kinda staring at Cynthia, and only seems to belatedly remember herself.

"So. Did anyone get anything fun for Christmas?" Christmas was two weeks ago, which is clearly ancient history in the mind of a child, but a distraction is good, right?

Alfie's eyes get big. Monroe's eyes get bigger. She doesn't seem dangerous, but Monroe ever so casually positions himself between Alfie and Cynthia, with the excuse of reaching down to fix Alfie's hat. "Eat your muffin." he murmurs softly, smiling. Alfie does as he's told, though his eyes are very large, very dark, very solemn.

"Alfie got me some lovely hair barrettes, and I got him some art supplies and a couple action figures." Money was very tight, but Alfie smiles all the same.

"It's Batman and Wonder Woman from the Justice League." Alfie tells the other children, sounding a bit more excited, now. "And the really nice crayons, not the ones that only sort of color the paper."

"I like Batman," says Billy. "But Superman can kick his ass. Only he doesn't because he's Batman's friend and friends don't do that."

"Yeah." The little girl looks a little less disturbed, with Monroe between herself and Alfie, and Cynthia on the other side. "I got a kitten." She smiles. "His name is Mowser and he's really fun."

Ravn decides against saying something about pets and not just for Christmas; it's not the girl who made the decision after all. Instead he sucks in his breath to say something -- anything, fun trivia about sharks, the weather, the shape of peanuts -- in case Cynthia has another horror story to share.

He didn't need to. The perhaps not quite living girl smiles. "I got a doll," she confides. "It has a pink dress and it is very pretty."

Breathe, Ravn.

Una's relief that her conversational gambit has-- at least temporarily-- worked is plainly visible: the tension in her shoulders eases just a little, and her smile, now, seems a little less pasted on. "Those all sound like great gifts," she enthuses, and perhaps only a little more loudly than is strictly required. The first of her skates has come off and been carefully set down beside her foot; the other still needs some work. "I got new mittens so I could play in the snow, see?" She shows them off, pink wool and all. "We made a bunch of snowmen."

One of the townsfolk out enjoying the sunshine is Gray Harbour's own police Chief. He's bundled into an actual coat, in keeping with the brisk weather, and has a cup of hot chocolate in one hand and flaky pastry in the other as he makes his way toward the benches overlooking the pond.

"Wonder Woman could defeat them both if she had to." Alfie says quietly, finally taking a sip of his hot cocoa, which is pleasantly cooler. "Mowser is a good name for a kitten... What kind of doll is it, Cynthia?" just because she's a ghost doesn't mean Alfie's going to be rude.

"Excellent mittens, Miss...?" Monroe smiles at Una, tilting his head, which causes an avalanche of curls. Seriously. Some of those have to be extensions or something. He's still between Cynthia and the other kids, though, just enough that if she tries anything he can punt her into the lake... if one can punt a ghost. Monroe would feel bad for punting a ghost kid, but...

"I named her Mary like my sister. Its head comes off." Cynthia beams. So much for creepy girl giving creepy a break.

Little Billy rolls his eyes and shuffles closer to Alfie.

And that's the sight that meets the Chief; a congregation of redheads of all ages -- from Ravn's copper blond over Una's bright red, to Monroe's gorgeous ginger. Around them, a handful of kids -- one of whom is obviously a younger Monroe clone -- about whom the only truly notice-worthy thing is that the girl in the plaid coat occupies one end of the bench, and every other kid is on the other side of Monroe, and the bench. She doesn't seem to mind. Maybe she likes to have a lot of personal space.

Ravn raises a gloved hand in greeting to de la Vega; he's got a mug of steaming cocoa in the other. "Afternoon, Chief. Out enjoying the rare and elusive Washington day star too?"

Aside from headless dolls (and it could be worse: some dolls are designed to be headless, and wouldn't young Cynthia just love them?), the children seem relatively safely occupied, and that leaves Una some space to turn her gaze back on Monroe; her smile is friendly. "Una," she says. "Nice to meet you-- and thanks! May I just say: your hair is amazing. Your... brother?" She's tipping her head towards Alfie for that, interested but in a polite kind of way.

And hey, her second skate is off! Now she just has thick woollen socks on her feet, though; her shoes must be around here somewhere.

The gaggle of redheads is about to be combo-broken by a dark-haired Mexican, unfortunately. "Mfphrgrbgl," is de la Vega's articulate reply to the question posed to him, courtesy of whatever he'd just stuffed into his mouth prior to answering.

Once he's finished chewing and swallowing, he tries again: "It's cold as shit." The ghost girl gets a double-take. And then Una, whom he recognises, gets a polite greeting of, "Afternoon," and a salute with his cup of hot chocolate. Monroe and his brother he doesn't know from a hole in the wall, but does query of Ravn, "Friends of yours?"

"Monroe." he replies. "He/him or they/them, either ones are fine. I was thinking the same about your hair, actually." he smiles back at Alfie, who is giving Cynthia another one of those looks, like he's not quite sure she's for real... about being a ghost. "Yes, I'm a little too young to even think of children. Alfie's enough of a handful."

Ruiz gets a raised eyebrow, but a friendly enough smile. "Monroe Lane and Alfie Lane-Jones." Received Pronunciation. British. Fancy sounding. Kid doesn't sound fancy. American half-sibling?

"... you mean the doll's head comes off, right?" Alfie asks softly, staring at Cynthia, seriously, now. "Your sister's head shouldn't."

Cynthia looks at Alfie and opens her mouth and --

-- and Ravn quickly says, "Did you know that you can use shark skin as sand paper, for sanding down wood?" There's probably an explanation for this bizarre leap of mind.

At least Cynthia closes her mouth again and then nods. "That's super cool. I like sharks." Crisis averted.

Ravn allows himself to breathe and then nod to de la Vega. "My neighbour, Una Irving in number five. And Monroe and Alfie I know from the community centre. We are only, ah, getting to know Billy and Cynthia and -- "

"Felicia," says the little girl who's spent the last ten minutes staring at Cynthia like she's afraid the creepy girl is going to eat her.

"And Felicia." Ravn nods. The look he gives the other man is little short of an SOS; the Dane knows very little about children or how to talk to them.

"Afternoon," Una returns to Ruiz. She's got nothing to salute with in response (and manages not to do so with her hands, which would be weird), but she's smiling at least.

"Nice to meet you, Monroe. And Alfie, too. I'll accept the compliment," about her hair, "though I still think yours is more amazing. Those curls!"

That distraction means she's not quite as on top of the conversation involving the children as she was; when she glances back, her dubiousness presents itself: the lift of an eyebrow, the pull of her mouth.

De la Vega's probably accustomed to getting prickly looks and raised eyebrows, and being otherwise informed in subtle and not-so-subtle ways that people aren't too comfortable socialising with a cop. So the look from Monroe doesn't seem to surprise him an awful lot. "We've met," he points out of Una, and attempts something like a smile for the gangly mop of curls that is Monroe. It's a little more like a baring of teeth, but he tries. "I should, uh." Go, he probably means. The pastry's finished off, and Cynthia gets another squinted look.

The train derails in Alfie's brain, "But... if you use it for the wood, then the shark can't use it. Just... use sand paper, it's cruelty free."

"Thanks, I'd love to say they do this on their own, but if I don't do a twist out after a wash, it's a very different look." Monroe sips at his own hot chocolate. If he knows Ruiz is a cop, he's not showing it. The eyebrows were likely for the language.

"Oh, but you mustn't, you've only just arrived, and I'm sure Ravn has many more interesting facts about sharks to teach us." Sage green eyes turn toward Cynthia, head tilting slightly.

"I'm actually -- kind of running out of great trivia about sharks," Ravn murmurs. "Last one? You can count a shark's years by counting the rings on its vertebrae, like on a tree."

Cynthia blinks at him. 'Vertebrae' might be over her educational level. "There aren't any sharks in the pond," she informs whoever is still listening. "Sometimes I'm not alone in there though."

"I think I heard my mom call," says little Billy and literally hauls little Felicia off. Maybe he doesn't really want to hear more horror stories about the pond and the bodies in it and the headless dolls and the -- kid has a point. Ravn has to nod his agreement as the two flee; he's tempted to flee right along but what can you do? It's not as if Cynthia has actually done anything -- as Veil apparitions go, she's definitely on the harmless side.

He sighs. What is it the American kids are fond of saying? With great power comes, and so on. "Why don't you show me where you live -- used to live, Cynthia? Maybe I can help you talk to your father about those movies."

Una produces her shoes-- boots, really-- from beneath the bench she's sitting on, and starts putting them on. (Most of) the kids are leaving, and no, she probably can't blame them either: creepy ghost children are definitely... a thing.

"I would have thought," she says, somewhere between a murmur and a properly out-loud voice, "that talking to deadbeat dads about maybe not showing porn to their impressionable children," alive or dead, "is something cops should be doing."

"I'm sure he does," de la Vega mumbles, glancing at his watch, and already starting to ease away. "It was, uh, nice to meet you." And then he's off again, patting himself down for his pack of smokes as he goes. Maybe kids just aren't his thing; or he really has somewhere he needs to be.

"That doesn't sound very pleasant, Cynthia. I'm sorry you have to deal with that." Alfie says, softly. "Do you want some of my muffin?" He's a bit older than some of the other kids, and has been Glimmering for a bit now, even if he's not very powerful. Weird stuff comes natural-ish.

"Bloody cops." Monroe mutters as Ruiz heads off. Alfie shoots him a look that is mildly disapproving. "Well. We'll deal with it ourselves, then, right?"

"I'm not sure the usual rules apply when the kid in question is dead and the deadbeat dad doesn't know she's in the room," Ravn murmurs back.

He glances after de la Vega as the Chief walks off and then hitches a shoulder at Monroe. "What's he going to do, arrest the father for failing to keep the daughter he can't see from telling creepy stories to other kids in the park?" The Dane shakes his head. "You get used to this town. Pick your fights."

"I'm not fighting anyone," Cynthia observes. "I just like to talk. It's very boring here sometimes. And all the others talk about is dead things. The guy under the bridge just wants to talk about people he wants to get back at. It's very droll."

Una accepts this with a roll of her shoulders: Ravn's not wrong, even if she does glance after the departing Ruiz with a moue of... well, something. "What will you say to her father?" she wonders, glancing from the Dane to Monroe, then back.

Without waiting for an answer, she turns her attention towards Cynthia herself. "Do you... spend a lot of your time here by the pond?"

Monroe is disquieted. He looks out over the pond, then toward the sky, and then toward Alfie again, giving a slight shake of his head. Don't share valuable nutrients with dead people. If she could get benefit from muffin bites that would be another matter.

"How many others are there?" Alfie asks, eyes huge now as he, too, looks out to the water, then takes another bite of his muffin. He's pretending not to notice the adult conversation, because there's things the kid just doesn't want to understand.

"There was a nice lady who fell in the water, but she talked to him and then she left." Cynthia looks at Ravn, and looks a little accusatory even. "And there are the bad men but I don't talk to them much. And there are old people. It's okay. Most of the time I sleep. But I am allowed to come out when we can skate. I fell through the ice, you see?"

Alfie is just that bit older that Ravn is perhaps a little less worried about what kind of nightmares the dead little girl might seed in his mind. He remembers how Alfie got along just fine with Mermaid Denny -- a man who scares the crap out of a fair number of adults. Alfie's going to be fine.

The Dane glances at Una instead. "I think I'll start with finding out if the father even still lives here. Sometimes -- time moves strangely when you're very close to the thin point. That's what's wrong with the lake here -- we are very close to one of the tears. I'm not sure where it is exactly but Gray Pond is known to be haunted sideways into Sunday because of it."

Then he nods at Cynthia. "I remember her. Her friend pushed her into the lake and she drowned. They made up, and she moved on."

The side-long glance Una gives Monroe is sympathetic. This shit is weird, man.

But not so weird she can't have a genuine-seeming (and -sounding) conversation with a little dead girl. "I'm... glad you get to come out sometimes, then. Just, maybe, don't scare the little kids too much? There's so many genuinely scary things out there, you know? I'm sorry you fell through the ice."

Her nod towards Ravn is distracted, if a little wary. "Got it. Pretty spot, hides the thorns. I hope the sister is ok." Not traumatised.

To Cynthia: "What's your last name, Cynthia?"

"Alfie, I'm sorry, but I think we'd probably better head out now. We've got to get a proper meal going, and that means groceries." Monroe flashes an apologetic smile at Ravn, Una, and even little Cynthia, though the one she gets is tinged with sadness.

"... Alright..." Alfie agrees, waving to Cynthia. "It was nice meeting you. I hope you enjoy your new dollie!" And then he offers his hand to Monroe, which seems to surprise his older sibling.

"It was nice meeting you, Una, Cynthia. Ravn, you have my number, yeah? If you need... help with anything there, let me know. I'll arrange a sitter." and then Alfie's leading his taller sibling off at a fast pace, practically dragging Monroe in his wake.

"Packard," Cynthia replies, readily enough. "I live on Spruce."

Lived, Ravn's glance towards the kid says. And as he can tell that the girl's coat is not exactly the bleeding edge of contemporary fashion, combined with the knowledge that Spruce is a part of town that definitely has gone on a steady decline -- he's not convinced that Cynthia's father and sister are even there.

But there's only one way to find out. The Dane offers a gloved hand to the kid. "Want to show me where you lived, Cynthia?"

He raises the other hand -- empty cocoa mug and all -- to Monroe, and to Una. "Never bored in this town, right? I'll see what I can do to help Cynthia get home."

"Nice to meet you too, Monroe-- and you, Alfie." Una's shoes are on, and so she, too, is getting up: time to go. "And you too, Cynthia."

For Ravn? A crooked little smile. Good luck? Though in the short term, at least, she's heading that direction too.